As We Come Together
by Hearts of Eternity
Summary: While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time
1. Nemesis Returns

This is the sequel to my other story, _What Time We Have Left_. The title is pretty much self-explanatory, I suppose; this fic is going to focus on the trails and tribulations of friends and lovers coming back together rather than the pain and reconciliations of parting. I hope that _As We Come Together_ lives up to _What Time We Have Left_. Please, do leave a review! I'm anxious to know what you all think!

_Darksyde- _Truly an allusion to both the Predacons' ship in Beast Wars and the infamous dark side of Star Wars; the name was absolutely too good to waste! Captained by Virus and maintained by her crew consisting of Trojan, Worm, Flamewar, Soundwave (plus accompanying symbiotes), and Nightshade, it is undoubtedly a formidable ship.

_Nightshade- _A character developed by **Violet Light** and belongs exclusively to her. She is a Decepticon femme apprenticing to Soundwave. Intelligent and deadly, her home-fic is _Vapour Trails_, which really is an excellent read! Just so everyone knows, I did seek permission to use Nightshade as a character; if anyone else wishes to use her in their stories, please, do go to **Violet** to ask for permission.

A galaxy-sized thank you goes out to **Litahatchee**, **Violet Light**, and **Lady Tecuma** for all their wonderful help, advice, and betaing. I don't know where this fic would be without them!

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. End of Story.

**As We Come Together  
****  
****In Which the Nemesis Returns**

They stared at the sky for what seemed like an eternity. For the Autobots, they stared into the immensity of space with tired optics, hope glimmering in their glowing blue depths as the last vestiges of Optimus Prime's message to the stars echoed in their processors. Out there, somewhere, were their friends, their comrades, and, for some, their lovers. The Allspark all but destroyed not even a few short human weeks ago, the last chance of their species' survival gone, they still looked to the stars in hope that perhaps someone, _anyone_, would hear their call and answer.

For the two small, organic humans amongst them, the sky was laid out in an array of pinpoints of light and endless darkness in a pattern that was so familiar to them and yet now so very different. As they gazed into the limitless reaches of the universe beyond their small planet, into the grand mysteries of the vastness of space, it was no longer the empty night sky full of only stars and plants they had watched as children- there was life out there now. As surely as there were four giant alien robots sitting around them now, stargazing in the exact same manner they were, the two humans now knew that it was not just _empty space_ they were staring into, but a _full universe_ thriving with possibilities as far reaching as cosmos themselves.

Sam was the first to break the silence that had settled upon the lookout as all-encompassing as the night had, his gaze breaking away from the slow, rapturous dance of the stars to fall upon his yellow-armored guardian, who had assumed his bipedal form shortly after the make-out session on his hood had ended. Blue, blue optics were transfixed to the sky above. The only sound that could be heard around them was the gentle hum of some bot's systems, the breathy hiss of servos and hydraulics. It seemed almost a shame to ruin the quiet.

"Do you think anyone will answer?"

Suddenly, those blue optics Sam had been watching were now turned onto him, Bumblebee watching him in a spectrum of ways that the human could never hope to imagine. Not only those blue optics, but the optics of Optimus Prime, Ironhide, and Ratchet turned to him as well, just as Mikaela's dark human eyes affixed to him.

"I… do not know," Bumblebee replied after a fashion. The rough, static-choked, British accented voice Bumblebee had first spoken with in the aftermath of Mission City, his first _real_ voice in over thousands of years, had healed greatly since then, smoothing out, sounding younger in pitch, like the teenager he was supposed to be equivalent to. "There are many… possibilities. I would like to hope that someone would answer…"

"Someone _will_ answer," Optimus said determinedly. By his voice alone, the matter was settled. The deep resonance that he stirred in the chests of the humans and Autobots alike left no room to contradict the resolution in his voice; because Optimus Prime said they would answer, they would answer. "Be it only one or one hundred of our kind, there will be _someone _out there who hears the call." He sighed, his great head turning so that his glowing optics were now directed at the vastness of the dark, speckled sky. "And even if we must wait until all the stars have turned to dust, we must wait patiently for their answer…"

* * *

Time, as the omnipresent thief of all things, soon stole away the last dregs of what remained of Sam and Mikaela's eleventh grade of high school. In the wake of the theft, the air was fraught with blazing heat and the jubilant celebration of freedom. Teenagers of every sort now overran malls, fast food establishments, parks, and any place viable for swimming, as per the unwritten rule of summer when all other life was choked out by the swarm of freed teenagers.

It seemed that only two particular teens were exempt from the wild high of summer, those two teenagers being the only two on the planet to be fully aware, and in constant contact with, an alien species.

Instead of the norm their fellow adolescents followed in trolling from one day to the next in the malls, in the theatres, doing nothing else except appeasing the honeyed god of self-indulgence, Sam and Mikaela were gladly spending every moment of their time with their new alien friends, helping in any way they could to better accommodate the metal giants to the new organic world they were now calling home.

Accommodating them, though, was easier said than done when all they had to work with was a hot, blazing desert and an abandoned air base that had seen better days.

Sam stared at the dilapidated structure with no small amount of shame; the Autobots had risked everything to save Earth and its people from the Decepticons, and _this_ was all that his government could spare? Talk about _ungrateful_. He turned pleading eyes to the Army Ranger standing next to him, his own expression spelling out exactly what he thought about the lacklustre air base that was now to be the Autobot's home.

"Will, you have _got_ to be kidding me," Sam said, an arm flung out towards to the heap of junk jutting out from the dry desert ground. "That's just cruel and unusual to give that to them."

"I know what you mean, kid, but this was all the bigwigs were willing to spare in the way of housing needs," Will replied, though he sounded disgruntled. "I don't like it either, but this is all we have for now."

Mikaela crossed her arms over her chest, her dark eyes affixed to the offending base. "For now?" she asked. "Does that mean someone had a heart and decided to offer up a little more for the future?"

Before Will could answer, a glint of hot desert sun on glistening metal caught their eyes. The Autobots were done inspecting the clusters of buildings that had been offered to them. It was hard to pick out the details in their expressions, and more so difficult to translate the expressions into a human equivalent, but it was easy enough to tell by their sunken stances that they were resigned.

"We can find a better place for you guys, y'know!" Sam called to them. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to- it sucks and we all know it!"

Optimus's long strides ensured that he would be the first to make it to the tiny group of humans who waited for them beyond the perimeter of the air base. "No, this will do just fine, Sam. If this is all your government can spare, then we will accept it as temporary headquarters for now." A great whoosh of hot air billowed from his vents, something the humans equated to as a sigh.

"The government's being ungrateful, stingy bastards," Sam grumbled in reply. "You saved our freaking planet; you deserve more than just a couple of rusted metal shacks in the middle of nowhere."

Will laid a hand on the teen's shoulder, quieting him. He moved to stand in front of Optimus, and the towering leader kneeled so that the human did not have to crane his neck so drastically. "As sad as the offering may be, those buildings are not the only thing that we are prepared to aid you with," he said, spewing forth the rehearsed lines that he had been given as one of the human liaisons between the American government and the Autobots. "We are also prepared to supply you and your people with whatever materials or technologies you should believe to need to better adjust yourselves here."

"Your technology we could do without, but raw materials are what we are in desperate need of," Ratchet intoned brusquely. "Until we can land the _Ark_ somewhere, I will not be caught any longer on this planet without a suitable place from which I can conduct proper maintenance and repairs. I will prepare a list of every element and compound available on this world that we are in sore need of, and the exact quantity required. The list will be sent to you in a couple of days, Captain Lennox."

Will grinned and offered a quick salute to the medic. "I'll be waiting for it with bells on, Ratch'," he replied, laughing when the Autobots failed to understand the idiom. While they searched the internet for the meaning, Will tried once more to get across that he really didn't need to be referred to as "Captain" all the time; his name would do just fine.

Ironhide slanted the soldier a gruff look. "It's your rank and title of respect; you do not wish to be referred to by it?"

Will smiled, shaking his head. "We're all friends here, aren't we? You don't see me calling you "Weapons Specialist Ironhide" all the time. First name basis suits me just fine."

Optimus nodded. "Very well, William Lennox."

Will laughed, wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow. 'William Lennox' was an improvement; if only he could get them to call him '_Will_.'

Bumblebee trooped over to the two younger humans, crouching down by them with a mischievous glimmer in his optics. "Do you want to get out of the sun?" he asked.

Sam grinned, his eyes instantly falling to the rusted buildings. "You know it," he replied. "Let's go explore that heaps of junk you now call a base."

Metal hands gently picked the pair of teens up and deposited them on broad, yellow shoulders. The trek there was little awkward, Bumblebee's limp causing his passengers to bump back and forth.

The battle of Mission City having only been a short time ago, only a few weeks by human standards, the injuries sustained to the Autobots were still taking their time to heal. Bumblebee's injuries, in particular, were taking a long time to heal. Without the use of temporary plating to patch the scout's legs back on, Ratchet's welding job had been arduous and recovery was still proving difficult.

Mikaela rapped Bumblebee lightly on the side of his head. "We can walk, you know," she pointed out. "There's no need to stress your legs out by adding our weight."

Revs of light laughter vibrated through the mech. "Your weight combined is hardly anything to be concerned about," Bumblebee replied. "I am fine carrying you."

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

Approaching the main hanger, the largest in the entire complex, Bumblebee and his two charges slipped in through the off-kilter open doors, stepping into the dry, shadowy compound quietly. Once the humans' eyes adjusted to the sudden shift in illumination, Sam let out a sudden wolf whistle that echoed about the empty room.

"It's… definitely a fixer upper," he said. Indeed, it was. A fine layer of dust clung heavily to every surface, hanging thickly in the air so that every breath was like breathing in cotton balls. Motes of light filtered in through cracked, grimy windows, casting a dim glow over the piles of abandoned wreckage that lay haphazardly around the ground, rusting quietly in their forgotten graves. In the moderate silence, muffled fluttering drifted down from the high rafters where birds and rodents had made their homes. The hangar was quite large by human standards, but probably quite cramped to the Cybertronians.

"I believe Optimus wishes to make this the main area of the base," Bumblebee informed.

Mikaela wrinkled her nose. "Do all of you even fit in here?" she asked.

"We do… somewhat," Bumblebee replied. "There just is not a lot of room to move around."

"It's like trying to fit all you guys into a closet," she huffed.

"This is only a temporary arrangement until the Ark can be set down," Bumblebee reminded her.

"And then you can all come out of the closet?" Sam asked, grinning. He received a light jab from his girlfriend for his troubles, though they both laughed.

Bumblebee may have missed the joke, but he understood the gist of what Sam was saying. "As soon as we figure out a way to land the _Ark_ without it catching too much human attention we will be able to…"_come out of the closet_" as you say, and move our base operations into the ship."

Although Sam gave into a fresh bout of laughter, Mikaela made a valiant attempt at calming down. "From what I understand, the _Ark_ is pretty huge, right? Any ideas on how you're going to land something so big without drawing any attention?"

"We have been debating the problem for a while, actually," Bumblebee replied, settling down on the dusty floor. "The best that we have come up with so far is to remotely connect with the Ark's operational systems and initiate a powerful electromagnetic pulse, similar to the solar flares your sun gives off, in order to disrupt Earth's satellites for a short period of time. Hopefully, the pulse will render your detection systems offline long enough for the ship to be guided down safely. What we are most worried about is what civilian humans will see when the ship hits the upper atmosphere; even before entering the exosphere the _Ark_ will be plainly visible by the naked human eye."

"The exosphere, huh? Your _Ark_ must be pretty freaking huge if we could see from all the way up there," Sam said.

"Even by our standards, the _Ark_ is a large ship. It was originally built to accommodate a large crew on deep space exploration missions."

Sam gave an impressed whistled. "No chance that it could transform into something that resembles a meteor like you guys can?"

"No. Even if it did have the capability of adapting a transition mode like we do for planet fall, the appearance of a meteor that size would undoubtedly cause a panic. The most we could do is compact the ship into its docking/storage mode for planet fall, though even that would be considered quite large by your standards."

"Is there a chance that you could wait to land the ship until there is an overcast sky?" Mikaela offered. "You could use the cloud cover as a way to hide its entry."

Bumblebee nodded, his faceplate perking up in what the humans recognized as a smile of sorts. "It is a possible course of action that we have considered, but cloud cover only offers localized camouflage; something will have to be devised in order to hide the _Ark_ from more distant prying eyes."

"How about we blindfold the entire country?" Sam offered. "Or maybe we pull a fast one on them and say "Hey! Look over there, it's the _Death Star_!" so while they're all looking in one direction, you guys land in the _Ark_ in the other."

It looked as if the Autobot was trying to fully compute what Sam just offered. "…the chances of a plan like that succeeding are highly unlikely."

"Hey, don't count out the power of misdirection just yet, buddy. It really does work; just take a look at our elections."

Mikaela rolled her eyes, reaching into her bag to grab the two water bottles stashed there. "You've been out in the sun too long," she sighed, shoving Sam's water into his hands. After she took a swig of her own, downing half the bottle, she addressed Bee. "I hope you guys figure out something soon. This place," she gestured to the dust and rusting junk, "is a piece of crap."

Bumblebee tipped his head, considering. "I hope so, as well," he replied. "Once a proper landing procedure has been figured out, planet fall will be much easier for the others if-," there was a little bit of static, "_when_ they arrive."

Sam offered a smile, patting the armor of Bumblebee's shin. "There'll be an answer coming any day now, you'll see," he said, watching as the scout's optics dimmed for a moment, and then brightened fractionally. "It's like Optimus said, right? We just have to wait a little while. Sooner or later though, someone will come."

"Yes, sooner or later," Bumblebee replied softly. A change in subject was needed. He reached out to encompass Sam in one hand, Mikaela in the other, and set them both on his shoulder once more. "Come on, there is still much to show you."

* * *

Galaxies away, speeding through the vast throws and eddies of a wormhole, the _Nemesis_ was set on a course that would take it home. That is, if _home_ still existed. There was no telling if Cybertron still stood or if it had fallen long ago and was naught but a husk of rusting metal now. Whether it still be a warzone or laid as a rusting mass-gravesite mattered little to the _Nemesis_ itself, for its course was locked in and the ship was bound to its headings; it's flight path determined by Starscream's will alone. It would not be changed for anything.

The reason for the Seeker's solitary role as the single crew member on the ship; he had been the only 'Con smart enough to leave the battle, and the atmosphere, alive.

Barricade had only managed to escape battle; the atmosphere had proven a bit of a challenge. He'd been left behind, for Starscream had been unwilling to aid his fellow Decepticon with his aerial-shortcomings. But leaving Earth did _not_ make Starscream a coward. No, instead it made him smart; certainly smarter than the _dead_ mechs left to rust at the bottom of one of Earth's oceans. He, unlike the others, simply knew when a battle was won and when it was lost. Mission City had been lost the moment he witnessed a puny organic pest thrust the Allspark into Megatron's chest.

After that, there had been no further reason to stay.

Inadvertently, the meat-sack, _Sam Witwicky_, had given Starscream _exactly _what he'd wanted for many millennia; the destruction of Megatron. And now that his lordship the ex-Lord High Protector of Cybertron was out of the picture, the sole duty of leadership of the Decepticons rested fully and rightfully on Starscream's shoulders. And, as anyone who just won the prize of a life time would, Starscream was heading home to gloat. As soon as he established his power over the Decepticons as their true lord, relishing the moment he would tell them their precious Megatron was long gone, he would gather his forces and launch an army for Earth.

For the Decepticons, they would see the attack as revenge for the death of Megatron; for Starscream, the destruction of Earth would only serve for his own personal satisfaction in seeing his once-great leader's grave as nothing more than a pile of ashes.

Slight turbulence rocked the ship, a few short chirps from a sensor-array alerting Starscream to the approaching threshold of the wormhole, normal space expanding around him until he was thrust into a dark, empty galaxy far, _far_ from Earth. Calibrating his sensors to get a better fix on his new location, he identified the area as the Beta-Zen galaxy, an essentially empty region of space with little more than a few burning yellow stars and red giants here and there, a lot of space-junk, and a number of planets, but only a few inhabited. Sentient life was debatable.

With the burning might of a nearby red giant blazing the back of the _Nemesis,_ Starscream engaged his slip-stream drive and set off through the quiet emptiness towards _home_.

Little did he know, the emptiness of the Beta-Zen galaxy was not so empty after all…

* * *

Hidden amongst decaying chunks of worthless rubble, soaked in the shadows of rock and refuse like some metallic predator, was the _Darksyde_. It was a moderately sized vessel, adequate to be manned by at least half a dozen bots. The hull plating was dull, rusted in some places, wielded on haphazardly in others; an old ship, perhaps, or simply one that had not been well taken care of. A single insignia was painted on its broad dorsal plating; bold, untouched, nestled in a wasteland of rotting metal, lay an immaculate Decepticon crest. It was the only thing that looked well taken care of.

While the _Darksyde_ was aptly named for its crew of Decepticons- for the dark side had long since become synonymous with the Decepticon cause- the ship's actual occupations were less of war and destruction and more of shady dealings and illegal deeds- in exchange for the right price, of course. Whereas much of the standing crew came from the powerful upper ranks of the Decepticon army, Soundwave and Flamewar to name two, upon the _Darksyde_ they were essentially mercenaries now whose services could easily be bought up by the highest bidder.

Much to their utter disgust, their lives were owned by those who could pay.

It was not a nice existence they led. No one had tasted luxury for vorns. Sadly, even their bear existence was better than going back to the war-machines they had once called comrades who had spiralled into dissension in the absence of a _true_ leader. The _Darksyde_ was _far_ better than risking the return of their universal betrayer, _Starscream_.

"Sensors picking up anything?"

"Negative."

A sigh. "Well, just keep monitoring, then."

"There's nothing _to_ monitor out here except slag and rock."

"Then just put the sensors on full sweep and catch a bit of recharge; we'll be moving on shortly anyways."

"Understood."

Having just completed one of its many unscrupulous contracts, the _Darksyde_ was anchored down in the normally empty Beta-Zen sector for a little respite from the toils of business. Gentle spatial distortions rocked the ship as if it sat on an ocean. Peaceful times like this were not relaxing, they were _monotonous_.

Nightshade perked up as a telltale blip from proximity sensors declared the approach of a ship. "Something just came up on sensors," she announced.

"A new client?" Flamewar inquired, being the only other bot on the bridge at the moment. She was loath to the idea it was the last client they dealt with coming back for more; he was an abhorrent mech who had made her energon run cold.

"Not sure." By protocol, Nightshade activated the identification scans. She rechecked the results, and then sent out a new scan to confirm. "…Flamewar, you might want to come see this."

"What is it?" She came over quickly, peering over the Intelligence officer's shoulder. One optic-ridge rose quickly. "It couldn't possibly be-?" Air caught in her intakes, her spark fluttering as her optics drew over the familiar lines of the oncoming ship.

"I'm not imagining it then, am I? You see it too? The _Nemesis_?" Nightshade asked carefully.

"Yeah, I see it. It's the _Nemesis _alright." Flamewar tapped out a few of her own scans on the vessel to confirm its identity. It was the Decepticon deep-space vessel, no doubt about it. It was the very ship that was carrying her lover home. She breathed a disbelieving laugh, watching the dark behemoth slide through space towards their hiding spot. "I'll be damned…" Her sharp, clawed hand flew to the _Darksyde_'s internal-comms.

"_Virus, Soundwave, you better report to the bridge immediately-," _her burning optics flickered to the ever-growing image of the _Nemesis_ on the active view screen, her grin now impossible to wipe from her faceplate, _"-you'll never believe what just showed up on sensors." _

Nightshade laughed a little, locking all sensors onto the ship in order to track its every movement. "Should we hail them now or surprise them when they come a little closer?" she asked. She really wanted to hail them, anticipating the moment that Frenzy's little faceplate would materialize over the view screen. Her mentor was going to be very please to know that his symbiote had finally come home.

"Don't break our cover yet. Wait until the others arrive."

"Right, of course." Nightshade rocked in her seat a little, tracking the newly arrived ship with her optics. "Do you think they found the Allspark, Flamewar? And Megatron?"

"Of course they have or else Starscream wouldn't dare show his faceplate around here," Flamewar replied. "It's either that, or everyone's dead and he's come crawling back home to admit his defeat, and we both know how likely that would be. Starscream would rather fly up his own aft than come crawling back to the Decepticons empty handed."

Nightshade nodded, optics flickering to the doorway as she awaited the arrival of Soundwave. He was taking far too long. "So… what are you going to do once you meet up with Barricade again?" she asked cheekily, bobbing her optic-ridges. Having lived alongside Flamewar for vorns upon the Darksyde, Nightshade had been privy to the various steamy escapades the ex-Femme Commander and her lover had embarked on.

Flamewar leaned back a bit, smirking. "First I'm going to ask him what took him so damn long to come home, and then I'm going to grab that mech's interface cable and screw him until his paint comes off. I'll make sure he isn't capable of going anywhere again for a _long_ time."

The other femme laughed. "I don't think he'd mind."

"How do you think Soundwave's going to take it that Frenzy's back?" Flamewar inquired.

"He'll be pleased," Nightshade replied, smiling softly. "Hopefully Frenzy's processors have sorted themselves out by now and he'll be able to recognize us; I know that is what Soundwave is hoping for. He's been waiting a very long time for Frenzy's return, as have I."

"I have no doubt," Flamewar nodded, placing a light hand upon the Intelligence officer's shoulder. "I am sure that Frenzy will be very pleased to break contract with Barricade and return to his original master. I must admit, that is what I am hoping for. It's extremely disconcerting to have a chattering little bug as a voyeur when you're trying to have your way with someone."

Nightshade offered a bit of laughter; she herself had grown used to voyeuristic company. "How do you think Virus is going to react to Starscream's return?"

"Like a nuclear explosion. You know how she is; she can hold a grudge until the universe implodes. Kaon was nothing compared to what she'll probably do to Screamer." Flamewar glanced to the entrance as well before returning her gaze to the other dark-armored femme, smirking.

"She did do a number on the base, didn't she?" Nightshade said. She remembered that orn well. True to Virus' promise should Starscream double-cross her, the quadruped had shown up in Kaon's midst with a defected Flamewar at her side, and proceeded to wreak absolute havoc on the base. Devoid of any real leader and still riding on the high of Iacon's recent destruction, the Kaon mechs went down hard. Shortly after that, the Decepticon ranks all over Cybertron began to go into dissension, choosing to rather further their own gains than pretend to listen to anyone else. Splinter factions starting popping up after that, causing a lot of trouble for the Autobots who had to defend against them. The uncontrolled division in the ranks was what prompted Soundwave's departure from the Deceptions and his subsequent invitation onto the _Darksyde_.

"Now that they're back, do you think that we'll return to the Decepticons?" the officer asked cautiously, or maybe that was hope in her voice.

Flamewar considered the question thoughtfully. "I don't know… possibly. If Megatron is back, then Virus will undoubtedly follow, and the _Darksyde_ is her ship, after all, so it will go too. I am loath to the idea of facing Starscream again, but Megatron, on the other hand… I would return to the Decepticons for him. The war will be ours with his return. It would be nice to finally have a place where we belong again."

"Yeah…"

Finally, the pneumatic hiss of the bridge door sliding open reached their audio receptors. Both femmes swung around to meet the arrival, their gazes meeting the stony gaze of Soundwave's visor. Nightshade snapped up from her seat to greet her mentor. He nodded to her, then to Flamewar, moving silently through the bridge to stand with the two femmes to await the captain's arrival. Virus entered shortly after, flanked, as usual, by Trojan and Worm.

"This better be good," she snarled, her bulky frame shifting heavily from side to side as she sauntered over to Nightshade's station.

Nightshade was quick to present her findings, hardly able to contain her excitement. "A lone deep-space vessel has entered the sector through a previously unknown wormhole."

Soundwave cocked his head. "Client?" he asked, mirroring Flamewar's earlier inquiry. His apprentice shook her head quickly.

"No, I wouldn't think so," she replied.

"Who, then? Have you identified the ship?" Virus asked, growling impatiently.

"Yes. We've scanned it several times to make sure." Nightshade glanced to Flamewar, who smiled and nodded in return. "The ship has been identified as the _Nemesis_."

Soundwave nudged aside his apprentice so that he could do a scan of his own to confirm- he needed to see the truth with his own optics. And not a single astrosecond later the proof came streaming in to him through the consol. "Confirmed. The approaching ship is the Nemesis."

"_Megatron is back,_" Virus whispered reverently. She went to stand before the view screen, rearing back onto her hind legs so that she was pressed to the monitor, staring at the approaching ship as if it were Primus aboard and not the Lord High Protector. "Confirm their life-signs," she ordered as her optics traced the ship. "Scan their spark resonance signatures; I want to _see_ that Megatron is on that ship."

Soundwave nodded, complying with the order. Flamewar and Nightshade stood eagerly at his shoulders, watching his ever move with excited zeal shining in their optics. It was the first time in a long time that any of them had had something to look forward to. Virus fell back on all fours, coming to stand behind Soundwave to await the news she had waited countless vorns to here; _Megatron had returned_.

Suddenly, Soundwave's entire frame went rigid, his fingers frozen on the controls.

Virus glared at the broad back. "What? What is it?" she hissed.

Flamewar stumbled away from the consol, shaking her head. "It- it can't be…" The scans had to be wrong. It was impossible. Soundwave's scans had to be false, or wrong, or corrupted somehow; it was impossible that the Nemesis could be devoid of all life, save for the miserable single life-sign they had picked up on.

Soundwave's fist came down on the controls furiously, shattering it. Nightshade snarled, her own fists moving to create their own craters in the wall.

"Report now! I demand you tell me what's on that ship!" Virus snarled, capturing Flamewar's arm in her jaws and threatening to tear it free from her frame.

Flamewar glared viciously at the captain of the _Darksyde_, ignoring the piercing pain of her arm as it twisted painfully in its socket. The pain that throbbed in her spark hurt worse. _"Nothing's on that ship,"_ she spat, disappointment and bitterness choking her. "Nothing of worth, anyways; no Allspark, no Megatron, no nothing."

The quadruped bristled, throwing Flamewar back and rounding on the towering presence of Soundwave. "Is it true?!" she demanded.

"Affirmative; nothing of worth aboard. Only a single life-sign detected."

"Have you identified the life-sign?" she snarled.

"Affirmative."

"_And?! _Who is it?!"

Soundwave's fists clenched angrily, the glare from his visor reflecting the fury of a sun. _"Starscream." _

The reaction was instantaneous. Virus reared, her wide, fanged maw stretched open to the heavens in an energon-curdling roar. She came crashing back down on all fours, only to strike out with her claws and take the captain's chair right out of its spot, flinging it across the bridge. "That's not possible!" she howled. "Where is Megatron?!"

"He is not within the ship, nor following within the vicinity of it," Soundwave informed. "He does not register on sensors at all."

"Are you sure?" the quadruped snapped. "There's no way that radiation from the wormhole or the red giant could have interfered with the scans?"

"It's Soundwave, Virus, of course he's sure!" Flamewar snarled. "Megatron isn't there; Frenzy's not there; Barricade's not there! Just fragging Starscream!"

"What are we to do?" Nightshade inquired, facing the fearsome captain of the _Darksyde_ unflinchingly. Her own optics were burning bright with rage.

"I owe that little fragger a turn for double-crossing me back on Cybertron," Virus growled, pacing the room agitatedly. "Now seems as good a time as any to repay him. Depressurize the hangar; I'm going to go greet him _personally._"

Flamewar hissed, pushing herself up from where she'd been discarded. Her optics stole to Soundwave's gaze, locking with the mech; they exchanged an understanding. Starscream had taken away her lover and stole one of Soundwave's symbiotes away from him. If anything, they had a far greater debt to repay the Seeker then Virus did.

"We're coming with you," Flamewar growled, charging her weapon just as Soundwave gathered his from subspace. "Let us be the welcome party."

* * *

"Whoa there. Halt the ship, Smokescreen, and hold our position. Something going on over there," Mirage warned, examining the scene unfolding on the view screen. The _Uller_ came to a slow stop just beyond the range of the enemy ships' sensors. From their position, they could clearly make out the forms of the two separate ships- one being the familiar _Darksyde_ whom they'd been tracking, the other being a monstrous sized deep-space vessel.

Smokescreen narrowed his optics on the behemoth ship. "Wouldn't you say that looks like the _Nemesis_?"

Mirage scrutinized the distant imagine, nodding after a fashion. "Yes, it certainly looks like it."

Hound drew a sharp drag of air through his intakes. "Where's the _Ark_,?" he asked anxiously. "Optimus and the others-?"

"Perhaps… they didn't make it in time," Mirage reasoned, bowing his head.

"Hey, hey, don't go getting emotional on me, you two. Something's not quite right; the _Darksyde_'s is flying into a defensive position," Smokescreen announced, dragging attention back to the two 'Con ships. "It might just be me, but it doesn't look like they're about to throw party for their guests."

"Nobody ever said the Decepticons were known for their warm welcomes," Hound said.

Small flickers of movement from the ventral side of the _Darksyde_ caught their attention. They could just make out three dark figures exiting the hangar.

"I don't believe it; they've finally flipped their circuit breakers!" Smokescreen exclaimed incredulously, zooming in on the free-floating Decepticons making their way towards the oncoming ship. "Those three are going to try and attack the _Nemesis_ on their own!"

"Stranger things have happened," Mirage sighed, trying to make any possible sense of what he was witnessing. "Draw the ship back beyond weapons range. If there is going to be a skirmish of some sort, I don't want to get involved. " He glanced to Hound, who sat poised at tactical. "Raise the cloaks as well so we don't draw any attention to ourselves."

"Right." Immediately, the _Uller_ hummed to life as its powerful cloaking array came online. Several holographic projectors deployed along the small ship's hull- there was a flicker over the plating for only a moment, one second an Autobot tracking ship floating in space, the next a completely inconspicuous piece of space rock drifting along in space. The holographic cloaking array may have been severely power-draining, but it was supremely useful at times like these when they wished to go unnoticed.

"What are we to do now?" Smokescreen inquired.

"We watch," Mirage replied. "If we're lucky, they'll destroy each other. If not, we send out a warning on all Autobot frequencies that our worst fears have come to pass; Optimus and the _Ark_ have failed on their mission to retrieve the Allspark. The Nemesis has returned."


	2. Aft Kicked

I am sooooo sorry about this atrociously long wait! Everything seemed to be getting in the way of this update, like me going to New York for the Easter weekend and then finding out the screwed with my all stories and I had to go back and fix them (and I haven't even gotten to all of them yet! Grrrrrr!!).

_Nightshade_- A character that belongs to **Violet Light**; I am using her with permission from her creator. If anyone else wishes to use Nightshade, please do ask the mastermind behind her.

'_I can't deal with that right now.'- _I could not resist that allusion to the 86' movie! Ultra Magnus Rules!

And, I just want to send out Galaxy Sized Thank-Yous to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was so blown away by the response that I nearly flipped over the moon! Each and every single review was like a little beacon of light to brighten my day and urge me on to write this chapter! Thank you so much to **Bluebird Soaring, plenoptic, Violet Light, Bunnylass, Litahatchee, Jason M. Lee, caz, Freakish Child, Daebereth, theshadowcat, RachaelMNiner**, and **mutated glow worm**.

Special thanks goes out to **Litahatchee** for all her wonderful help on this chapter!! As well as awesome special thanks to **Violet Light** and **Lady Tecuma** for reading this through! You three ladies are the best!

**Special Note- Thanks to a fine few suggestions and wonderful advice given by the wise and kind Litahatchee, a paragraph was changed within this chapter for easier reading and better dramatic effect. Thank you, Lita! You've the the greatest! **

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Starscream Get His Aft Kicked**

* * *

The _Nemesis_ compared to the _Darksyde_ was a behemoth of monstrous proportions.

Undaunted by the immense disparity in size, the _Darksyde_ slid out from the shadow of junk it was hidden behind, manoeuvring into the direct path of the oncoming ship. Weapons deployed, shields at full power, it was like a heavily-armored glitch-mouse standing in the path of a very large, very deadly cyber-cat. The theatrics of it all served as a good distraction to allow Soundwave, Flamewar, and Virus to exit the hangar without being spotted.

A hail was sent out; Starscream to the approaching idiot ship. It was a Decepticon ship; that was easily surmised by the crest that sat boldly on it back, but what the pit was it doing targeting its sorry weapons on the _Nemesis_? The answer came moments later; a visual-communications channel opened up and a familiar faceplate appeared on the view screen.

The Seeker quirked an optic-ridge at the femme curiously; he recognized her easily enough, unchanged even after his long absence from Cybertron; Soundwave's runt of an apprentice. A wicked smile like poison crept across his faceplate. "Nightshade? To what do I owe this pleasure, so far from Cybertron as we are?"

She returned his hospitable greeting with narrowed optics and a nasty scowl; it was _her_ mentor from whom Starscream had taken Frenzy and she was as likely to forgive the glitch for the insult as her master was. "I'd raise my shields if I were you."

"Is that any way to greet your exalted leader after I've been away for so long?" Starscream asked, his voice flowing like oil over the comms.

"Megatron is our leader," she replied stonily.

"If you haven't notice yet, Megatron isn't here right now."

"Oh, I've noticed," she hissed in reply, glaring. "No one's on that ship."

"Save for the one that counts," Starscream laughed.

"You're ego is as large and bloated as last was at Kaon, Starscream; I'm surprised that red giant doesn't get sucked into the gravitational pull of it," the Intelligence officer drawled. Her gaze was sharp. "What have you done with the others?"

The Seeker had the audacity to laugh. "Is _that_ was this is all about? Spark-sick for Frenzy?"

Nightshade's optics glared like an inferno, but her attention divided for a mere astrosecond to check the progress of her fellow shipmates out in free-space. The plates of her mouth curled up fractionally. "This is your last chance, Starscream. Tell me what you've done with the others or else."

"Or else?" He laughed again, a high, sharp laugh that drew chill through Nightshade's frame. "What possible threat do you think you pose in that heap-of-slag you're flying?"

Her ghost of a smile expanded into something taunting and deadly. "Who said anything about this ship attacking you?"

A dull roar rattled from the depths of the Nemesis, a tremor shaking through its floors. A screech of alarms suddenly filled the bridge, warnings scrawling across monitors blaring about the sudden detonation of a ventral hatch and the intruders making their way inside the ship.

"What the pit-?" _How did they get so close without sensors catching them?! _The Seeker rushed to activate a visual down in that sector of ship to see who the pit could be orchestrating such a foolhardy attack.

Across the screen materialized the image of one bot he recognized by frame alone- heavily armored, ugly beyond description, and hunkered down on all fours- undoubtedly Virus. The other two he did not recognize so easily, though undoubtedly they were bots he'd fragged off at one time or another. It was a mech and femme, from what he could tell. The femme stood at the maximum height for femme-frame designs, outfitted in a sharp, jagged-edged set of pitch-black armor. The mech was a towering being, far larger than Starscream even, equipped in deep midnight-blue armor.

Suddenly, several panels on the mech's back slid open, spewing forth a series of rapidly transforming symbiotes Starscream knew very well, meaning their master was none other than- _"Soundwave." _It seemed the mech had gone through a major reformatting in the Seeker's absence. At least his presence explained how they'd gotten so close without being detected.

As if sensing they were being watched, the unnamed 'Con femme spun towards the visual device recording her team. Her faceplate, hidden behind a battle-mask, crumpled into a vicious snarl as she raised her charged weapon and fired a volley of rounds.

"_You little glitch-!" _

He snarled at the now black screen, diving for the security controls in order to raise the internal defences and firewalls. His spark went cold as he realized there was already a foreign entity in the mainframe ploughing through the security systems Frenzy himself had devised to protect the ship. He cursed his luck- while Frenzy may have been an unrivalled communications/hacking expert everywhere else in the galaxy, the student obviously had yet to best the master. Worse yet, judging by how Soundwave was bringing down every internal system he touched, the master was still harbouring a little grudge for the taking of his student.

At the mercy of the Decepticons' Communications Officer, the _Nemesis_ was a lost cause; Starscream's chances of weaselling out of this predicament stood only slightly better if he were to engage the intruders hand-to-hand. By some miracle, he could catch them by surprise and force them out at gunpoint.

Abandoning his post at the controls, the Seeker transformed. His powerful Cybertronian alt mode (having dropped his ridiculous Earth guise the moment he left the atmosphere) took to the air, shooting off through the door and down the wide corridors.

Unfortunately, a trap already laid in wait for him as he swung into the final corridor of the lower-half of the ship. From above, hard, heavy weights hit him and clung. Laserbeak and Ratbat to each wing; Rumble and Ravage to his tail end, tearing at it viciously. So focused on shaking the parasites loose, he never registered the concussion blast coming straight at him until the last moment. Jerking up, it only managed to graze his underside. The nameless black-armored femme came hurtling from around a bulkhead, leaping into the air and managing to land, straddled, on his nosecone.

She was close enough for his identification scans to pick up on her spark resonance and identify it. _"Flamewar-!" _

"_Hello, Starscream," _she purred dangerously, shoving all of her weight to the front so he tipped dangerously, catching the floor, and then flipping aft over nose. Disengaging before they were smeared into the ground, Flamewar and the symbiotes took cover as the jet went careening on its back down the hall, grinning in the wake of wild sparks and the audio-shattering shriek of metal screaming against metal.

Rumble cheered raucously, pumping his fists in the air.

Ravage butted his brother in the side, silencing him. "It's not over yet," he growled. "He couldn't have possibly been taken down so easily."

Partially disorientated, Starscream just barely caught Flamewar's shouted order - _"Quick, hold him down!"- _then the clatter of clawed feet and the whoosh of airborne creatures. Not willing to be subjected to the humility of being restrained by creatures one-fourth his size, Starscream transformed, wrenching his parts and pieces back into place, righting himself just in time to smack Laserbeak away.

"Hey! Claws off ma' sister!" Rumble shouted, and a sudden, shocking pain flew through the Seeker's right foot as the symbiote's seismic disturbers drove into it. Ravage roared and dived for the hand that was now flying to dislodge Rumble. Ratbat flew into his faceplate, scratching at his optics. Above the sounds of the scuffle, Starscream could make out what the creature was shrieking-

"_Where's Frenzy?! Where is he? What have you done with him-?!" _

Kicking Rumble off, smacking Ravage away, and tearing Ratbat away from his faceplate, Starscream laughed. "Let me guess, you're all here for that, aren't you? Wondering what I could have possibly done with the rest of the crew?" A snort issued harshly from his vents. "They're dead, for all I care-."

Hot fury flooded Flamewar, a liquid rage that filled her. Her new, razor-edged armor bristled like a thousand needles standing on end. "Barricade's not dead!" she howled. "You're a liar!" Streaking down the hall as a blur of a black shadow, she overtook the jet in a flash. Only one-third his size, her fury made her frighteningly strong, and devilishly fast. The Seeker found himself staring down the barrel of a glowing concussion blaster, feeling the sting of an unseen hand as it dug past the slates in his armor into the sensitive wiring beneath.

"_Where is Barricade?!" _

"Why should you care, you malfunctioning femme? Wasn't it you who said you could easily find someone else to satisfy to your needs?" That earned him a sharp jab to the faceplate by the barrel of her gun.

"I'd watch my words if I were you. You're at _my_ mercy, not the other way around."

"Are you sure?" he sneered. Ignoring the searing pain of his captured, twisted circuits, he swept his arms up to encompass her small frame in his large claws. She howled, twisting wildly. Before he could even dare to twist her in half, a pair of monstrous hands came around his own, prying into the joints and leasing the femme from his clutches.

Once free, Flamewar made sure to deliver a sharp kick to his faceplate. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure, '_Screamer,_" she replied scathingly. "You're at _our_ mercy." She ducked away from the claws that came for her head, leaping to Soundwave's shoulder.

Soundwave was utterly silent as he reached up to pry open Starscream's interface port, one hand crushing the Seeker's neck column to hold him fast. Angry red sparks flamed up and down the dark midnight armor as the Seeker fought for his freedom against his relentless captor, kicking and clawing furiously.

"How dare you! Release me this instant or I'll have you dismantled for high treason! What in the pit do you think you're doing?!" he shrieked, desperate for his release before the sanctity of his processor was violated. Optics flashing fearsomely as he watched Soundwave's large hand draw close, he made a move to rip away the offending appendage only to find his arms immobilized in the vice-like grips of Rumble and Ravage.

"Not so tough now, are ya, 'Screamer?" Rumble taunted, twisting his prisoner's arm. Ravage kept his fangs firmly buried in the metal.

"I'll have your sparks for this," Starscream snapped, bucking wildly in attempts to get away. "I'll melt you all down to piles of slag for this!" He felt the small panel below his neck tear open, too-large fingers probing in mercilessly.

"You're assuming we care," laughed a ravaged voice from just beyond Soundwave's frame. A blunt, fanged faceplate appeared in his vision.

"_Virus." _The Seeker snarled at her, attempting to jerk forward, but was slammed back into the wall for his efforts. "If you're responsible for this, I'll rip your spark out _personally_."

She huffed a harsh laugh. "Not before I do you the kindness first. I owe you that much."

"_You owe me-?" _His optics were dark and dagger-like as he glared from one bot to the next, piecing together exactly what he'd done to frag them all off. "Do you mean to tell me this whole farce is nothing more than a means to satisfy your own personal vendettas against me?!"

Soundwave revved darkly. _"Correct." _

Flamewar's faceplate twisted into a harsh sneer. "Congratulations, you're not as stupid as you look, 'Screamer."

"You pathetic, insolent fools! How dare you treat your leader like this-!" His frame seized rigidly as Soundwave rammed his own cable into the exposed port, the perverse feeling of absolute _violation_ retching through the Seeker's systems. Information, streams of it, whole memory encodes, encrypted files, protected firewalls, were accessed, assessed, and then tossed aside as their worth was measured. The speed at which the massive invasion was taking place was dizzying, sickening. _"Get- get out-!"_

"Negative. Not before needed information is acquired."

He could feel Soundwave drawing deeper, sweeping into the most private facilities of the Decepticon leader's mind. At the first prickling sensations of the Communications Officer beginning to pick apart the last firewall standing between him and Starscream's most precious knowledge and memories, Starscream bolstered his last dregs of desperate strength.

"I'm ordering you- _GET! OUT! OF! MY! __**MIND**_**!**"

His thrusters ignited, raining down a cascade of burning blue flame upon the creatures that held his arms. The appendages finally free, he sliced through the interface cable connecting him to Soundwave. A garbling warble of surprise rose from the mech. With the grace that all true Seekers were imbued with, he leapt from the ground, flipping over Soundwave, avoiding Flamewar's mad swipe for his head, and landing well away from Virus.

Stabilizing himself on the ground, he brought his own arsenal online and targeted the group of intruders. "This charade has gone on long enough!"

Unafraid to face the barrel of the Seeker's gun, Flamewar snarled, demanding, "Tell us what we want to know, Starscream!"

"You're in no position to be making demands!" He refused to waver as dizzying vestiges of the invasion unsteadied him; he kept his gun up and his optics steely.

"You're outnumbered!" the femme retorted.

Starscream barked scathingly. "And you're outclassed!"

Flamewar could feel her gears grating in pure irritation. "Dammit, Starscream, I just want to know where the pit Barricade is!"

Soundwave growled, accessing his recently procured information. "They have been abandoned," he intoned monotonously.

"_What?!"_ Flamewar howled. She glared incredulously at the Seeker, her needle-like armor bristling. _"You abandoned them?! How __**dare**__ you!"_ While Starscream's faceplate yielded nothing more to her than a mirthless sneer, the femme turned on Soundwave's shoulder to face the mech. "_Where are they?!"_

The Communications Officer paused for a moment. "Barricade and Frenzy now reside on an organic planet designated "_Earth_"." Starscream hissed a laugh at the femme as a spasm of disgust crossed her faceplate.

Virus growled impatiently. "What of Megatron?"

Starscream's optics lit up fractionally. "I was wondering when you'd ask about him, you slag heap," he hissed.

The quadruped spat at him, baring her fangs. "I swear to Primus, you little power-parasite, if you even _dare _lie about Lord Megatron's whereabouts-."

The Seeker laughed. "Why lie about a dead mech's grave?"

Virus bristled ferociously, her entire frame vibrating. "What did you just say?!"

Grating, raspy laughter drifted from the mech, sick enjoyment painted across his faceplate. "That fool was destroyed by the very tool he set out to find, his execution carried out by a bug one-sixth his size."

Utterly disbelieving of him, the quadruped snapped rabidly at him. "The truth, 'Screamer! I want the truth!"

"It is Megatron's dead and _I_ am now the true leader of the Decepticons. Your precious Lord High Commander is nothing more now than a rusting corpse at the bottom of an alien ocean-!"

"_YOU FRAGGER_!" With surprising speed, Virus dove forward, bowling Starscream over with the force of a nuclear explosion. Her claws sunk deep into his wings, driving long gouges through the metal, the shriek of tearing armor overpowering Starscream's howl of agony.

"You still think I'm lying, you corrupted scrap-heap!?" he screeched, writhing under Virus's monstrous weight.

"Mute it! Mute it, you slagging piece of useless scrap!" Her movements were frenzied, claws digging, fangs gnashing. "He's not dead! Lord Megatron isn't dead!"

Flamewar laid a sharp, pointed hand to the side of Soundwave's head, leaning in to his audio receptor. "Is it true?" she asked gravely.

The Communications Officer was silent for a fashion, gaze affixed to the captain of the _Darksyde_ as she continued to rip into the self-proclaimed leader of the Decepticons. "It is true."

Flamewar hissed, her claws scratching against his cranial plating as her fingers clenched into fists. _"Dammit."_

Virus roared, rearing back, overhearing the exchange. She was beyond hysterical now, vicious and berserk. "**NO!** It's not true! Megatron is out there! He's not dead! Not defeated! He's out there somewhere! He is out there!"

"You're even more deluded than I thought if you've placed that worthless megalomaniac on such a high, immortal pedestal," Starscream spat, faceplates curled back in a look of revulsion and torment. "You're disgusting!"

With her fanged maw only a breath away from his faceplate, she roared. Flecks of hot, blue energon spattered everywhere. _"I'll show you disgusting!"_ Black cables unravelled from the depths within, sharp viral injectors piercing his armor, driving into his open interface port, one piercing his left optic, and suddenly he was filled with the agonizing burn of being corrupted from the inside out.

With a ruthless jerk, Virus disengaged, laughing as she watched Starscream writhe at her feet. "You are _**nothing**_ compared to Megatron."

Flamewar slid from Soundwave's shoulder, laughing, running to drive a hard kick into the Seeker's side. "That's for Barricade!" she snapped viciously. She raised her foot to strike him again, but Soundwave's hand on her arm drew her away.

"He has nothing left," he intoned. "Leave him be." Though his spark howled for retribution, to inflict agony upon the twisting creature, Soundwave knew his efforts could be better spent searching for Frenzy now that he knew he was alive, out there somewhere.

She glared, glancing down at the twisting, screaming thing on the floor that once called itself their leader. It was flailing, howling, enraptured in a fit of never-ending torture; a haunting parallel of Arcee so many vorns ago. Soundwave was right, he had nothing left; he wasn't worth it.

Virus shoved her way back into the hatch entrance they had first entered through, piercing the nearest consol with her viral injectors and infecting it. Pulling back, she glared at the other two. "The ship's done for- let's get out of here. Soundwave, contact Nightshade; tell her to prepare the ship for immediate departure for the wormhole this little glitch crawled out of. We're heading for _'Earth'_. I'll prove Megatron isn't dead_._"

Flamewar and Soundwave exchanged looks but remained silent. Let Virus chase after ghosts, it didn't affect them any. Beyond that wormhole lay their lover and Creation, the two things in the universe they most wanted to see.

So they left Starscream to his death.

* * *

"…are you fragging kidding me?" Smokescreen breathed disbelievingly, watching as three bots separated from the _Nemesis_ relatively unscathed. "They _survived_ the _Nemesis_? How the pit do you get away with that?"

"They made a deal with the Unmaker?" Hound suggested while quirking a wry smile. Truth be told, if it were true it wouldn't surprise him; the _Darksyde_'s crew had committed enough atrocities to rightfully own the pit.

"Never thought them the religious types," Smokescreen snorted.

"Next time we engage them in battle, you can ask," Mirage said. His optics remained locked on the drifting _Nemesis_ as the _Darksyde_ collected its captain and crew. Something wasn't adding up. How do three rogue Decepticons barge their way onto a heavily armored ship, take on a crew undoubtedly consisting of the likes of Megatron, Starscream and the like, all most likely empowered by the Allspark, manage to infect the ship with an Alpha-class virus, and escape with their lives intact? It _wasn't_ possible.

Hound leaned over his consol, spotting the dark expression now spreading across his superior's faceplate. "Something ain't sitting right with you?"

The Master Spy nodded solemnly, tracking the dying ship's progress as it slowly started to drift towards the nearby red giant. "I have a feeling we're missing something."

"Ain't we always?" Hound offered offhandedly. "It's not like we always know what's going on with the 'Cons at all times. I mean, we _just_ caught back up with the _Darksyde _after that disappearing act they pulled half a vorn ago." His bright, jovial optics studied the _Nemesis_ and the _Darksyde_ for an astrosecond. "Something could have happened to them between then and now- maybe they're Autobot now, or at the very least Neutral."

A loud snort issued from Smokescreen's vents. "There's a difference between wishful thinking and deluding yourself, Hound," he laughed. "They're Decepticons through and through."

Mirage's icy optics drifted back to contemplate the _Darksyde._ "From past engagements with the _Darksyde_, we know the crew is tough, dangerously resourceful, but _far_ from capable of taking on the likes of Megatron alone- let alone Megatron _and_ the crew of the _Nemesis_. They would never dare consider doing something as foolhardy as this on their own."

"This was a contracted job, then?" Hound guessed.

"I doubt it," Smokescreen shrugged. "We've seen them refuse contracts before. Attacking their lord and master sounds like something they'd turn down in a sparkbeat." Despite being the _Uller_'s resident expert on Decepticon behavioural patterns, he, too, was floundered to come up with an explanation as to why the _Darksyde_ would suddenly commit high treason.

"If this is not a contract job, how are we to explain three defected Decepticons randomly deciding to attack the _Nemesis_, a ship of their _own_ faction, march in to do Primus-knows-what to it, and then escape scratch-free? Why would they attack in the first place? What are their motives? Why haven't we seen a greater resistance on Megatron's, or the crew's, part?" Mirage sighed, his fingers drumming absently on the armrest of the captain's chair. "I think we need to look into this further; if we try to report it to Prowl now, he'll have a meltdown from the pure illogicality of it."

"What about Ultra Magnus? Or any of the other Commanders?"

Mirage made a noise of annoyance. "You already know what he'll say-,"

"I know, I know- _'I can't deal with that right now-.'" _Smokescreen sighed.

A wry smile quirked Mirage's faceplates. "Yes, that's exactly it, and there is good reason for it. There's been a recent increase in disappearances amongst Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral ranks. He's been bogged down by all the incoming reports."

"Dammit- _more kidnappings_?" the helmsmech cursed. The disappearances and kidnappings had been going on for vorns. Intelligence had revealed that most of the cases took place within the vicinity of several illegal mercenary and merchant ships, the Darksyde and Swindle's Double-cross being two. However, efforts to apprehend the offending ships remained as elusive as ever. Already-taxed resources were being poured into trying to track down the missing and the kidnapped. Thus far, no one, be it Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral, had yet to pull off a successful rescue. No one had even been able to figure out who the mastermind was behind it all."

A blip from tactical made Hound jump a little. "An escape pod has just been launched from the _Nemesis_. A single, life-sign is present, fluctuating rapidly- it won't last much longer. The _Darksyde_ is failing to acknowledge it; they're heading straight for the wormhole the _Nemesis_ came through."

Mirage glared stonily at the screen. At one time, they might have considered offering assistance to the dying Decepticon, whoever he might be, but the rules of war had long since changed. "Leave it be; one less 'Con for us to deal with. Check the ship for further life-signs."

Hound nodded, sending out a sweep to investigate the mothership. "The pit-?" He switched the information feed to the main display for the others to see. "There are no other life-signs aboard the ship!"

"They all dead?" Smokescreen queried, going over the information now being shown.

"No, I mean it's completely empty! Not even a hint of dead 'Cons or drones on board! It's just _empty!_"

"Well, check the scans again, they gotta be wrong," Smokescreen reasoned.

"They're not wrong," Hound protested. "All I'm getting is an unidentifiable signature in the escape pod- the vitals are far too unstable to get a clear fix on who it is. There's nobody else in the vicinity- no Megatron, no Allspark signature…"

"Perhaps…" Mirage paused, wary of what he was about to purpose, "perhaps there was nobody aboard to begin with? That single life-sign could have been the only mech on board to begin with."

Smokescreen swivelled to stare at his superior, considering the idea. "What could have happened to the others, then?" he asked.

"Dead somehow," the Master Spy offered, "or left somewhere." He tipped his head slightly, watching as the _Darksyde_ disappeared over the event horizon of the wormhole. "Drop the guise now, Hound. There's no point in draining our power cells any more with them gone."

"Got'cha." The hum of the _Uller's_ holographic emitters wound down to a dull sigh, the image that surrounded them flickering for a brief moment, and then they were a normal ship again. "Maybe the _Nemesis_ wasn't as victorious against Optimus as we first thought?" the scout wondered, hope flittering on the edges of his voice.

"It's a possibility," Smokescreen said, nodding to the behemoth heading for its fiery doom at the hands of the red giant. "Dunno what could've happened, but I'm not complaining."

A quick chirp from communications caught their attention. Hound swung over to see what it was, his gasp audible to the rest of the bridge as he brought it up.

"What is it?" Mirage inquired.

"It looks like a transmission just came through the wormhole," he replied, already working to open it. "It's encoded on Autobot frequencies."

Smokescreen and Mirage shared a brief glance, Mirage suspicious, Smokescreen curious.

"Who's the sender?" Smokescreen asked.

Hound stared at the consol for a few brief astroseconds, disbelief clearly etched over his faceplate, before he threw back his head and laughed. "It's Optimus!" he crowed, laughing, grinning, breathless and lightheaded. _"Optimus Prime!" _

"No fragging way!" Smokescreen yelled, leaping over his own chair to rush the tactical station, only to be beaten there by Mirage. "What's it say?" He tried to clamber over his leader, but was shooed away impatiently as the ice-blue mech bent low over the consol to inspect the transmission, verifying that it was, in fact, from Optimus Prime. "Come on, Mirage, what's it say?!"

Hound couldn't wipe the grin from his faceplate. "It says you should calm down before you go on the fritz, Smokey!"

"Don't play with me like that, Hound, or I'll throw you out an airlock!" the mech retorted, threatening him in fun. "We've been waiting Primus only knows how many vorns for some sort of sign that they're alive! You can't blame me for wanting to see the first piece of good news that's come along in a long time!"

Mirage straightened up, smiling softly. "I've verified the authenticity; it is from Optimus Prime."

Hound whooped triumphantly, punching the air as Smokescreen clapped the spy on the back. "Is it audio or visual? Hurry up and open it, the suspense is killing me!"

"It's just an audio feed, accompanied by a massive data packet." The Master Spy was already tapping out the proper commands to open the substantial transmission.

First there was nothing but static, a few distortions caused by the wormhole, and then they heard it, the calm, strong baritone voice of Optimus Prime coming to them loud and clear. It felt as if the weight of the universe was suddenly lifted from their shoulders, hope, a forgotten thing to them for such a long time, suddenly reviving in their sparks. Hound actually had to catch himself before he toppled back into his chair from sheer, overwhelming relief and joy. They listened to every word, enraptured by the sound of Prime's voice, taking in every detail contained in the audio file.

"_Primus…" _Hound sighed. "I never thought I'd be so happy to hear his voice…"

"You and me both," Smokescreen laughed.

Too soon, it seemed, the transmission drew to an end.

"_I am Optimus Prime, and I send this message to any surviving Autobots taking refuge among the stars. We are here, we are waiting…" _

With a final crackle of static, the speakers went silent. The _Uller_ remained utterly silent for a long time, the crew trying to process all that they heard, none daring to speak for fear of breaking the spell that had settled upon them. Even the controls and sensors arrays kept silent.

It wasn't until a space distortion from the wormhole rocked the ship that Smokescreen dared to move, releasing a long, hissing sigh from his vents. He settled back from the tactical consol, quiet and solemn. "The Allspark… it's…" He turned his head, optics shuttered tightly.

Mirage laid a consoling hand on the mech's shoulder. "It's gone," he said solemnly. "The mission, in that respect, failed."

Smokescreen hissed, a fist coming up to drive into the consol before him. "Frag!"

Hound slipped in between the two mechs, taking Smokescreen's hand and holding it tightly. "Hey, _hey_, I know it looks bad right now, with the Allspark gone and everything, but Optimus and the others surviving is still good news, right? We still have _hope_ as long as Optimus still lives."

Mirage's optics locked with the scout's, Hound's gaze begging for them to see that all was not lost. Damn the optimistic. "…Hound is right. Optimus still lives, and we are still alive, for that we should be thankful."

Smokescreen shook his hands from Hound's grip. "Sure, yeah, it's all great and dandy that everyone's alive, but what about all these vorns we've wasted waiting for the Allspark? It's not fair, Mirage…"

"War isn't fair," Mirage said, sighing, "Nor is life."

"Then what's the point of any of this?" Smokescreen snapped.

"Hope! That's the point!" Hound retorted. He took the other mech by the shoulders, forcing him to lock gazes with him. "Just… just give this a chance, Smokey. We'll figure something out; Optimus will know what to do. Once we meet back up with him, I'm sure that he'll explain everything that's happened."

Reluctant, but at the mercy of Hound's begging, hopeful gaze, Smokescreen relented, releasing a long sigh. "_Fine_. I'm trusting you, Hound- Optimus better have one fragging good explanation for us when we get there."

The scout smiled brightly. "That's the spirit!"

Mirage smiled to his fellow mechs softly, once again appreciating how much Hound and his optimism had done for them in their darkest hours. Allowing them to have their moment, the Master Spy returned to the transmission, now working to open the accompanying data packet. It was everything they would need to know about their new home, _Earth_; an organic planet, home to many indigenous organic species; the dominant, sentient life forms were a curious, if primitive, species that called themselves _human_. The transmission included an overview of the many diverse cultures and languages of Earth, topographical maps of the planet's surface, star charts of that galaxy, landing coordinates for arriving ships, plus further well wishes and hopes that everyone was alright and a short note that all arriving Autobots would be given a better detailed report of what happened upon their arrival on Earth.

Hound peered over his superior's shoulder. "It's... amazing," he whispered in awe. The explorer in him was already excited.

"Set a course for the wormhole," Mirage ordered, turning his gaze to Smokescreen. "Follow the _Darksyde _through. It may not be mapped, but if the _Nemesis_ could make it through from Earth to here, then I'm guessing we can make it through from here to Earth."

"I'm on it." Smokescreen saluted him loosely, hopping down to the helm and inputting the heading.

The ice-blue mech stepped away from tactical, allowing his scout to take up the post. "I want you rout the transmission through our communications hub," he ordered as Hound sat down. "Give it as much power as you can and send it out on all possible Autobot frequencies. Encrypt in it that the original message came through in the Beta-Zen sector, carried by a wormhole and received by the crew of the _Uller,_ who has already gone ahead. Put in an advisory that we have observed unusual Decepticon activity in the area and that caution should be used upon entering the region. But, on a lighter note, let them know that the wormhole in this region could very well be a shortcut to our new home and that they can plot a course through it instead of following the offered course in the transmission, which looks like it would take a few vorns to reach Earth."

Hound's fingers flew as he hurried to attach the message. "That all?"

"Yes, I believe so," the mech replied, settling back in the captain's chair as they approached the threshold of the unmapped singularity.

The scout grinned. "Alright then, transmitting message." Just as the nose of the _Uller _entered the singularity, the message was thrust into space. Astroseconds later, they were gone.

In the wake of the Autobot ship, the Beta-Zen sector was empty and silent.

It stayed that way for a joor, then two, three, the evanescent trails of the _Nemesis_' escape pod dispersing, the pod and its dying occupant long gone. The drift of the _Nemesis_ drew closer to the red giant. As the fourth joor bled into the fifth, a disturbance in the continuum of vacant space was made. At first it was a ripple, much like that of the holographic imagers on the _Uller_ when they activated, then it became a violent shudder. The void was space was trembling. Something dark loomed beyond the range of sight, a presence that was cold, malevolent, _watching_.

Moving unseen, unheard, towards the drifting, dead _Nemesis, _a hole opened up, blacker than the Unmaker's spark and colder than any tomb. In the blink of an optic, the deep-space vessel was swallowed whole, the gaping void it fell into closed, and the rippling entity faded into nothingness, as if it were never there.

* * *

From its humble beginnings as a junk heap, the Autobots' base was certainly starting to look like a half-decent thing. Even with only a month's worth of construction on it, the once rusting collection of hangars and warehouses was hardly recognizable. Now standing two, three times their original height, the walls high and thick, Cybertronian applications put in place to reinforce shoddy human construction, things were certainly starting to shape up.

New structures were also underway; a proper ammunitions hangar, barracks, an extension on the med bay, and a huge tower/spire meant to be the communications hub for deep space transmission being a few. The sky was slowly being scraped by metal fingers as towers and spires continued to grow, the earth below hollowing out as subterranean levels were dug out, expanding in all directions. The base was a constant hub of activity, everyday, nonstop. The buzz in the air was electric and alive.

Steel beams and sheets of metal glinted brightly under the sun as they were moved by flatbed trucks and cranes, the heavier supplies contained in large, metal shipping crates seen to by a flame-painted semi and a badass looking Topkick.

Humans were _everywhere_ on the base as well, running to and fro with supplies, materials, and whatever else they had been ordered to carry. Most of them were military under the direct command of Captain Lennox and Tech Sergeant Epps. Those who were not the grunts of the American army were ex-Sector Seven grunts; they, too, were under Lennox's watchful eye, much to Simmons' irritation. Running jokes amongst the humans were at an all-time high as the ex-S7 men bore the brunt of remarks such as "finally being useful for something other than wasting tax-payers' dollars" and other such things that were said loud enough for everyone to hear and laugh. The only reason peace remained between the two factions of humans was because of the looming fear of being stepped on by a giant robot should they get out of hand.

Sam and Mikaela remained as steady presences on base, determined to show their gratitude to their alien friends for saving their planet by working their asses off on the construction under the constant threat of heat stroke. If they were not with Bumblebee running errands then they were with Ratchet helping to set up the med bay, and if they were not with Ratchet then they were amongst the throngs of humans, heaving heavy crates of raw material on and off Optimus and Ironhide. They were never _NOT_ on base, foregoing all the usual rituals of summer in order to stay in the thick of the action. The only time they weren't on base was when they were forced to go home and sleep at night.

It wasn't until Sam finally did suffer from a minor heat stroke while running an errand across base that the two teens were ushered off the base with direct orders from both Will and Optimus for them to take a couple of days off. Reluctant, they left, escorted by Bumblebee, who was under direct orders not to let them back on base until they had had proper rest and recuperation. Those orders lasted all of a few short days, all of which were spent lounging at either Sam's or Mikaela's place, until Sam felt better to be up and moving again.

Eager to be part of the action again, but still on strict orders for R&R, they did exactly what any other pair of rebellious teenagers would do; they found a loophole. While they couldn't set foot on the Autobot's base to help with construction, that didn't mean they couldn't go to another place that desperately needed hands to help. Mission City, in the after math of 'a terrible military experiment gone wrong', was still trying to pick up its ruined pieces, calling out to the people for volunteers for assitance. Sam and Mikaela were more than obliging, even managing to rope Miles into it as a way to make up for the month Sam had ignored him.

"…so, do you honestly believe that this was all just a military experiment gone wrong?" Miles wondered for the millionth time. As laid back as he was, conspiracies and huge government cover-ups were still his nerdy fantasy to dream about.

Sam glanced up from the pile of rumble he was sorting through, the thick gloves he was wearing protecting him from the thick shards of glass and shrapnel that jutted up from random places. Today they were sorting through the sorry remains of what used to be a pawn shop- until Jazz had landed on it.

"Miles, I don't know what to think," Sam replied, lying through his teeth.

"Aw, come on, man- you've gotta have some idea," Miles needled, his blue eyes dancing. "'Experiment gone wrong' my ass. I mean, there's protocol after protocol with those sorts of things- they don't even dare take things off the testing range without deeming it "relatively safe", let alone letting anything out into civilian cities. This whole thing _screams_ cover-up."

Sam laughed, nodding along. He had no idea how close to the truth he really was. "Alright then, what do you think really happened here?" he asked, indulging in the game.

The blond paused in his rummaging, taking a moment to tug his right hand from his glove and itch his nose. "I say…. total alien attack," he joked, grinning broadly. Sam just about dropped on the spot before his friend continued. "The whole shebang, you know? Like _Alien, _or _Alien vs Predator, _or _War of the Worlds-." _

Mikaela suddenly appeared between them, her nose slightly crinkled. "The Tom Cruise one?"

"Nah, I'm thinking the 1950's version. I saw it on the oldies channel once, it was tons better," Miles replied.

"I bet," she laughed, handing over the bottles of free water that she'd snatched from a table set up for the volunteers. As the boys chugged back their drinks, she slipped her protective gloves back on and dug into her work. "So- what did I miss?"

"Miles thinks little green men from mars did this," Sam laughed, his eyes bright as he glanced to his girlfriend.

Mikaela laughed as well, her gaze mirthful and mischievous as she turned to Miles. "You think this is the work of aliens, huh?"

Using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, Miles grinned again and nodded. "_Totally._ What else could it be? I swear, I'd kill for aliens to be real!" The three of them shared a good laugh, Miles chuckling at his hopeless dreams of aliens, Sam and Mikaela enjoying the humour of the irony.

They worked the rest of the day away like that, laughing and joking about what really happened in Mission City. Some of the other volunteers chipped in with their own ideas as they passed, all ranging from the likes of a gas explosion, to terrorist attack, to genetically-altered mutant super soldiers, to aliens. The conspiracy theory Sam and Mikaela particularly liked was their supervisor's Borg idea, stemmed from the strange scraps of metal and wire they would find littered up and down the streets- fragments that the government had ordered to be collected the moment they were found so as to be returned to the 'experiment' they came from. It was amazing and frightening to see how close to the truth some of the theories actually got.

By the time the sun was starting to set, the air cooling, and everyone was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, it was finally to end another day of work. Miles was the first to be picked up, his mother even offering Sam and Mikaela a drive since Bumblebee was nowhere to be seen. They refused politely, fumbling through an awkward explanation that Sam's dad had come in earlier to grab the car to take it in for some tuning. They failed to come up with a reason as to why a bitching new Camaro like Bumblebee would need any amount of tuning so soon. Appeased by the simple excuse nonetheless, Miles left, waving jovially out the passenger's side window until the old caravan turned the corner.

It was a while yet before Bumblebee showed, and when he did it was in a blaze of lights and horns and a loudly revving engine. Human volunteers scattered before the oncoming car for fear of becoming road kill. The Camaro was practically bouncing on his shocks as he skidded to a halt before his human friends, hologram in place with a bright grin on his face.

Sam stumbled back, choking and laughing at the same time as a spray of road dust blew into his face. "What's got your engine purring so loudly today?" he asked, slipping into the opened driver's side as the hologram disappeared.

Mikaela slid in on the passenger's side, stretching out on the comfortable leather. "Something happen on base while we were gone?"

Bee's engine purred loudly, vibrating through the cab. "Yes, something did happen today actually," he replied, excitement clear in his voice. "The message that Optimus sent out two Earth months ago- someone has finally answered!"


	3. Contact is Made

Sorry about the long, long wait. Life and school and unforeseen circumstances beyond my control popped up. I hope that this chapter will suffice- I think it might get a little boring towards the end… In any case, please read, enjoy, and review!

'Normal'- English, **'Bold'- **Cybertronian. (Just for reading convenience.)

_Nightshade_- A character that belongs to **Violetlight**; I am using her with permission from her creator. If anyone else wishes to use Nightshade, please do ask the mastermind behind her.

_Flamewar's use of "bitch"- _While I doubt that pure Cybertronian language would have a term for a female dog (as I seriously doubt they have dogs around on the planet), I was unable to think of a proper equivalent for the word in the context that it is used. So, let's just say that in the Cybertronian language, they do have a "bitch" word for an unfortunately indentured person, but it is not a homonym to a female dog.

_Use of Contractions_- I don't know if this is really relevant, but I'm going to put this in anyways; if anyone's noticed, I've tried my best to portray the Autobot's language in English without the use of contractions. In the movie, as well as the novelization, they had a really formal way of speaking (Jazz being the exception), so I tried to capture that by excerpting contractions. The longer they stay on Earth though, the more comfortable they may become with the English language- so their patterns of speech may change gradually.

My sincerest thanks goes out to **Silveriss, TheRavenQuoth, Violetlight, Bluebird Soaring, Karategal, Jason M. Lee, Daebereth, Caz, Bunnylass, theshadowcat, Twospotz**, and a special, galaxy-sized thank you goes out to **Litahatchee**, who left no less than three reviews to the last chapter. **Lita**, this one's for you!

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, the character Nightshade, or Great Big Sea's _It's the End of the World As We Know it (and I Feel Fine)!_

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Contact Is Made**

"Singularity event horizon is on sensors; approaching normal space in four astroseconds, three, two, one-"

The _Uller_ rocked gently in the throws of the wormhole, tossed lightly through the distortions as a seafaring ship would on disturbed waters. Some consoles chirped muted warnings, hardly heeded as the crew's optics remained pasted on the upcoming aperture into a velvet dark, star-speckled alien space.

Their exit of the wormhole was a little less graceful than their entrance had been. The aft section caught on an eddy, shaking them before spitting them into normal space with a hazardous jerk that threw them forward out of their seats.

"Nice flying," Hound laughed as he picked himself up, dusting off his armour.

Smokescreen grunted, clutching his head where it had collided with the helm station. "At least the _Uller_ held up," he replied. "Some of those gravitational wells were pretty strong. I thought maybe some of the portside plating got ripped off somewhere."

"The ship's repairable. It may not be deep space explorer class, but she's pulled us through some tough scrapes in the past; if anything got pulled loose, we'll just patch her up," Hound said, patting the _Uller_'s tactical station fondly. "I'm just glad that we came through in one piece."

"Yeah."

Mirage leaned over the side of his chair, surveying the celestial body on the view screen. "We're pretty close to that yellow star, Smokescreen. Back us off the appropriate distance so we're not drawn in," he ordered, then turned to Hound. "Hound, I want you to run scans of the area to match the star charts Optimus sent us with this area. Make sure we came out in the place we were supposed to, if not, find out exactly where we are."

Hound nodded, already bringing up the charts to match them to the scans. "What about the _Darksyde_?" he inquired as he worked. "You want me to send out a scan for them too? They already have a head start on us."

"It would give us the tactical advantage if we knew where they were… As far as we know, they are not aware of our presence so far." He considered the option for a moment. "Yes, send out a scan for the ship's signature." Right along with pinpointing their coordinates, Hound easily issued the full-spectrum scan for the _Darksyde_'s hull signature in the immediate vicinity.

The _Uller_ whined a little as its overheated engine pushed to release the ship from the star's pull. With a little fancy control work from Smokescreen as he manipulated the shield harmonics and increased power output to the thrusters to break free from the star, he was able to back them off to a safe distance away from any major radiation poisoning. Thankfully, the aperture that they exited out off was not far from a small, pockmarked planet; he engaged engines and manoeuvred the ship towards it.

"You think Optimus and them received our transmission?" the helmsmech wondered absently as he directed the ship. "I know that we sent it from within the wormhole, but do you think it was too distorted to make out?"

"Perhaps," Mirage shrugged. "Even if it was too distorted, though, they would have at least been able to confirm the Autobot signature it carried. They would know _someone_ answered them." He fixed the tactician-on-helm-duty with an amused look. "You could have waited until we'd exited the singularity to send the message, it would have made more sense."

"Patience was never a virtue of mine," the other mech laughed. "I figure that if I'm going to be giving this whole _new home/no Allspark_ thing a chance, I might as well put a little bit of enthusiasm into it."

"Enthusiasm is one thing, forging my captain's override codes to issue a transmission from within distorted spaced is another," the spy replied wryly. "Things may have become lax in all the vorns we've been tracking together, but I believe you'll be finding yourself in the brig more often than not if you don't remember the way chain of command works by the time we get to Earth."

"And who's going to penalize me? Optimus?" The tactician huffed a soft laugh. "He's let more things slide at Iacon than I can count."

"You never know," Mirage warned, shrugging. "A lot could have happened in the time that he's been away to change that."

Smokescreen looked like he was going to retort with something smart but quickly reconsidered, settling back in his seat subdued. They already knew a lot had happened, the destruction of the Allspark for instance. While it had just been the three of them on the _Uller _for so long, protocol had certainly been thrown out an airlock for the sake of their sanity, but maybe some of the old rank-and-file directives should be revived, _just in case…_

"Well, I have some good news and some bad news," Hound chirped, breaking into the conversation. "Who wants to hear what first?"

"Bad news first," Smokescreen requested with a sigh. "Just get it over with."

"Alright," the scout acquiesced. "The _Darksyde_ already has a major head start on us, almost out of reach for short-range scans. It appears that they are following an ionized particle trail, most likely left behind by the _Nemesis_. It's not a clear trail, and most of it has dissipated since the ship came through, but if they keep following it, it will lead them straight to Earth."

"_Lovely_." the other mech groaned. "Gimme the good news now."

"Sure thing," Hound grinned. "I've matched sensor readouts to our coordinates and it appears that we are in the Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy; exactly where we want to be. That planet we're coming up on is designated as "Mercury," the first planet in Earth's solar system. Earth is the third, so it's not too far off."

Smokescreen brightened marginally. "How long do you think it'll take to get to Earth?"

"By the looks of things, we could be within range in an orn or two, if all goes well," Hound replied. "Plus, thanks to the information Optimus sent us, we have a major advantage over Virus and her crew; we know _exactly_ where we're going and they don't."

"We'll only have that small advantage for as long as it takes them to figure out only one of these planets supports life," Mirage reasoned. "They're smart; we won't hold the advantage for long,"

"Then we'll just have to make the best of it while we can," Hound replied. "As soon as we maintenance the ship we can set a course for Earth and hopefully beat the 'Cons there. And while we're at it, we can hope Smokescreen didn't blow out our communications so we can send a message ahead to warn Optimus and the others of the oncoming threat. Best to have them prepared too should Virus and her crew decide to attack."

"Yes, of course. We'll have to work fast on the maintenance, then," Mirage said. "Smokescreen, bring us into a low orbit around Mercury and secure us there. You and I will go out to assess the damages while Hound remains in here to check over our communications. If everything is still operable, Hound, I want you to try to send a warning to Prime. As you've said, it's best to have them prepared."

"Yes, sir," the two mechs coursed, saluting their captain loosely before complying with their given orders.

* * *

Nightshade stood quietly, unobtrusively, near the shadowed walls of the bridge, her hot-red optics watching as Flamewar glowered rottenly at the view screen from her stubborn perch in the captain's chair. They had said little to each other since the older femme had come back from the Nemesis. She was scuffed, restless, and Nightshade knew better to mess with her when she was like that.

Even Soundwave had been more taciturn than usual upon re-entering the bridge. He stayed only long enough to issue a change in flight plan, drop a complaining Rumble by the door, and then leave again with Virus to discuss the matters at hand. Since then, the bridge became permeated with the malignant, restless, silent aura punctuated periodically by a rancorous growl from Flamewar or a wistful, bored sigh from Nightshade.

Trojan and Worm worked diligently at the helm and tactical stations, unbothered by the tense silence that weighed heavily on bridge. They did as they were bade, nothing more nothing less, Starscream, Megatron, and wormholes be damned. Rumble simply continued to grouse where he had been dropped, utterly refusing to be coddled by anyone even though he was blackened, dented, and could scarcely move.

Resigning to the fact that Flamewar was not budging, nor was she anywhere near amiable at the moment, Nightshade settled for wandering over to Worm to peer over the burly mech's shoulder. He shifted to accommodate her at the station, dull optics glancing her way briefly before a blunt finger came up to point at a small blip on the monitor. The signal was faint, and a little distorted from inference coming from the wormhole, but she could just make out a small Cybertronian spacecraft exiting the singularity and puttering over to a nearby planet to shelter in low orbit.

"Looks like someone's followed us through," Nightshade announced, checking over the sensor readouts.

"Who?" Flamewar growled, in no mood to be dealing with any more problems, not after what went on in the _Nemesis_. She just wanted Barricade now, nothing else.

Nightshade glanced to Trojan, who immediately scanned the vessel and sent the information to Worm's consol for Nightshade's review. The femme assessed the results and snorted. "Promise not to shoot me and I'll tell you."

The ex-Femme Commander growled in irritation. "My patience is spent, Nightshade. Unless you wish to come under fire, I suggest you report your findings."

With a sigh, unconcerned with the threat, the femme acquiesced to the demand. "It seems our favourite little parasites have finally found us again."

"Parasites? You mean the _Uller_?" With Nightshade's nod of confirmation, Flamewar hissed a laugh, her mood slightly lifted. "Took them long enough; I was starting to think they'd given up the chase."

"Shall we send them a friendly hello?" the other femme asked, poised over the helm to take it from Worm, ready to instigate a firefight.

"We ain't gonna fight 'em now, are we?" Rumble whined from his place on the floor. "Can't we do it later?"

"Remain on course," Flamewar ordered, but even as she issued the order her optics betrayed her desire to let off steam on her favourite targets. She resisted the urge, reminding herself that there were more important things in the universe. "We must get to Earth in order to find Barricade and Frenzy. Mirage and his two lackeys can sit and rust in their little scrap heap for all I care right now."

"Whatever you say." Nightshade backed off from the console, allowing Worm to resume his duties. Deciding Flamewar was still a little too riled to be holding a normal conversation with, she fell back on an old standby; teasing her mentor's Creations. It wasn't exactly the most mature thing for a fully minted adult to do, but boring times called for desperate measures. By the look on Rumble's faceplate, he knew it was coming too.

"So, Rumble, I forgot to ask earlier, how did your little excursion to the _Nemesis_ go?" she asking as she slid up to the sulking mech. "Was big bad Starscream too much for you?"

"He was nothin'," the mech replied stubbornly.

"Nothing my aft," she replied. "He was four times your size."

"Hey, I was able to hold back one of his arms while Soundwave got the information from him! That's gotta count for somethin'!"

"Look what that stunt got you," she sighed. A long, thin finger poked him in the arm where his normally vibrant heliotrope armor was blackened and brittle. "Starscream might have been a glitch, but he wasn't second-in-command for nothing. You got your aft handed to you."

"I did not!" To save face, he struggled to rise from his place on the floor, only to topple over sideways as his leg hydraulics gave out.

"Did too," Nightshade laughed, moving to help Rumble up. He remained stubborn and mulish even as he was sat back on his aft.

"Did not-!"

"Did t-"

"_Mute it!"_ Flamewar snapped waspishly. "Starscream is dead; he got what he deserved! Be happy with that!"

Before a snappy retort could be formed, one that would undoubtedly put the speaker's life at risk, the bridge's door swept open with a pneumatic hiss. Oblivious to the rancid tension hanging heavily in the room, the captain and Communications Officer of the _Darksyde_ strode in brusquely, keeping up with their own discussion without sparing their shipmates a glance.

"-our supplies appear adequate to last us approximately three dozen orns before we must restock, but only if we ration ourselves properly."

"That is acceptable," Virus nodded. "And what of the _Invader_?"

"The ship is also fully stocked and ready to be launched for preliminary assessment of the planet the moment we are within range of Earth," Soundwave reported.

"Good. The sooner we retrieve Megatron and our two wayward mechs off this "Earth" planet, the sooner we can return _home_."

"My sentiments exactly," Flamewar cut in. "I, for one, wish to find Barricade as soon as possible so that this never-ending nightmare can finally be _over_. I want to be a _Decepticon_ again, not living this pathetic half-life as the universe's _bitch_."

Virus smirked, sitting back on her haunches. "Someone's in a good mood this orn."

"I'm always in a good mood when I find out my lover's been abandoned on a mud-ball planet by the one creature I hate more than anything in the universe." Flamewar shot back flatly. "I've never been happier."

"I can tell." While Flamewar was so ireful she could have shot lasers from her optics, Virus was at the other end of spectrum, elated to the brim of beings giddy. Within the last joor, Starscream had been done away with, the location of her exalted Megaton had been revealed, and now she was within grasping reach of her glorious lord and master. Life could not be better.

While Flamewar and Virus quipped back and forth, Nightshade gazed up at her mentor, Rumble still propped in her arms. "Master Soundwave, sir?"

He glanced down, nodding to his apprentice as he spotted her. "Yes?"

"Do you mind taking a look at Rumble?" she asked. "Looks like Starscream's afterburn evaporated the lubricant in his joints- he can barely move." To prove it, she heaved Rumble up, only to have him quiver momentarily before his legs collapsed beneath once more. "See?"

"_Would ya quit playing with me! I'm not a toy!"_ Rumble groused. A quick sweep-scan was preformed so that Soundwave could assess the damage; it was a little disconcerting to see that Rumble had been damaged so when Ravage slipped away with only minor heat blisters.

"Take him to the med bay for maintenance. Clean him up and apply fresh lubricant to his joints," the mech ordered. "Ignore him if he chooses to be difficult." With a quick nod, his apprentice gathered up her patient and stepped around her master, making her way down the hall to the small med bay.

With Rumble being seen to, and Virus occupied with checking over Trojan and Worm's work, Soundwave carefully made his way over to where Flamewar sat perched in her seat. Her blazing optics would not look away from the view screen but it was clear that her thoughts were elsewhere. He laid a large hand upon her shoulder, nearly encompassing her entire upper torso. She started at his touch, sharp gaze diverting to his visor for an astrosecond before refocusing her sight ahead.

"You are thinking of Barricade?" He asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

A hardly discernable tremble passed through her frame. "Yes."

Ever silent, observant, Soundwave could see straight through the wavering wall Flamewar was struggling to maintain. "Something troubles you with these thoughts."

Her gaze was sharp when she met his visor again, optics flashing dangerously. Decepticons _did not_ talk about their feelings; even if it'd been a long time since she was considered a true Decepticon, she still held on to those brittle ideals. **"No."** Soundwave's gaze was unrelenting in return. She sighed. _"…yes."_

"Why?"

"Because I'm a slagging ball of fragged-upness," she snapped sardonically, and then regretted it when she felt Soundwave's glare prickle across her armor. It was a rare occasion for Soundwave to choose to hold a conversation like this and she was shooting him down; not a wise move on her part. When she spoke again, her voice was low, whispered, _wary_. _"What if he's changed? Barricade, I mean…"_

A moment of consideration passed. _"He has. As have you. It would be unreasonable to assume that so much time could pass without any change rendered." _His voice was modulated to match hers.

Flamewar's gaze fell to her clawed hands, her dangerous, needle-like frame purchased with the funds collected for their services. She _had_ changed a lot. How much had Barricade changed, though? Would he still know her? Desire her? _Love_ her? Was the trepidation her felt in her spark _fear_? No. Of course not! No true Decepticon felt fear. Though…they weren't supposed to feel _love_, either.

"_What if I've wasted all this time on him?" _

"_You have not."_

"_How do you know?" _

Soundwave released a soft sigh of air through his vents. He and Flamewar were unique on their ship of misfits; while they had never used the "L" word openly to convey what they felt for their missing mechs, they both knew the word lurked beneath the surface. They had an understanding; a connection; the only Decepticons to accept that love was not a weakness.

"_If what you feel for him is truly love, and you have spent all this time loving him, then you have not wasted your time at all." _

The warm, large hand that lay upon her shoulder slipped away, Soundwave's presence easing back into the background until the door hissed open and he was gone. Flamewar sat unmoving in his absence, the pulse of her spark a little quicker than it had been a few moments before. He had said it, the "L" word: _love_. The very utterance of it seemed to make the world come into sharper focus, the longing and pain in her spark ever more acute. Unconsciously, Flamewar lifted a hand to her chassis in attempts to assuage the old wound opened anew.

If a mech like Soundwave could use a dangerous word like "_love_" and mean it, then perhaps all was not lost after all.

…Or else, the apocalypse was coming sooner than anyone had dreamed.

* * *

"_It's the end of the world as we know it-!  
__It's the end of the world-!"_

"Bumblebee, I swear to Primus, if you don't turn your radio off this astrosecond, I will mute everything on your person from your communications to your vocal processor!" Ratchet snapped irritably.

Instantly, Great Big Sea was silenced, the yellow minibot pouting dejectedly as he was shooed out of the way. Mild human laughter flittered lightly through the electric, buzzing air in the song's wake.

"Aw, don't be like that, Ratchet," Sam called from the narrow balcony that wrapped around the command center, constructed specially for the humans to reduce the risk of being stepped on, as well as lessening the strain on the Autobots' necks as they craned to speak with their human allies. "He was only trying to lighten the mood."

"A blown communications hub is nothing to laugh about," Ratchet replied obstinately. "If he wishes to be of some use, he can go outside and manually adjust the communications tower by 38.6 degrees North- Northeast to see if that clears up anything."

"And while he is at it, he can get rid of those flying rodents that have decided to roost on the hub. They are interfering with the signal," Ironhide rumbled. The poor weapons specialist was in a particularly rotten mood since he was told he could no longer shoot the wildlife off.

Bumblebee made a discontented noise, a cross between a huff and whistle. Despite being an alien from a vastly different species, he was pulling off a perfect "incredulous teenager" look- the exact same look any human adolescent would give a parent after being assigned double chores. Before the minibot could say anything though, Optimus peered up from his own work, catching the scout's optic. He nodded once, and it was enough to convince Bumblebee not to complain.

"I will see to it right away," the scout sighed, making his way towards the large, slightly ajar doors. He paused at the entrance, glancing to the humans with a hopeful look. "Sam, would you like to come with me?"

As hard as it was to say no to his best alien friend, the desert was cold at night and Sam had no desire of being hauled up the communications tower on Bumblebee's shoulder. He and Mikaela had _just_ been allowed back on base a few short days ago; he had no intention of plunging to his death from the top of a two hundred foot tower.

"I'm going to pass this time, buddy," the human replied with a smile. "I'll take a rain check on it, 'kay?"

The scout gave a long suffering sigh. "Okay…."

"Have fun, Bee," Mikaela laughed, lifting her wrist to check her watch. It was getting late, going on twelve. While she herself did not have a curfew, Sam did- even if it was pushed back a few hours in honour of summer. If contact with the new Autobot ship was not established soon, Sam would have to miss the whole thing and she would have to put up with his whining.

Sam was well aware of the fact too, nervously checking the time on his cell phone every couple of minutes. "Wish they'd hurry," he sighed, glancing to the diligently working Autobots.

"Can't rush perfection," Epps replied, offering a consoling shrug. "They'll have it set up when they have it set up." He and Will lounged unconcernedly on a nearby faded couch. In the few months since they had met in the bowels of Hoover Dam, a steady rapport had been building between the two soldiers and the teens. By now, the age difference hardly mattered.

"It's going to suck majorly if I have to go home _before_ they have it set up, though" Sam groused. "My curfew's at one."

Will offered a sympathetic look. "I'm sure they'll have connected to the _Uller_ by then." The captain glanced to Mikaela. "You don't have a curfew to meet either, do you?"

"No," she replied nonchalantly. "Chase doesn't care when I come home." Her aunt may have been her legal guardian, but her role as an authority figure in Mikaela's life was a minimal one.

"Signal is clearing up, Optimus," Ironhide rumbled, diverting the human's attentions back to the activity below.

Ratchet elbowed his way passed the black-armored mech. "This is good," he said quickly, now typing in a series of codes across an alien keyboard. "I was worried that our ramshackle hub wasn't going to be able to transmit."

"You worry too much, friend. It works fine." Optimus soothed, patting the medic on the shoulder. "If it was able to receive the first message from the _Uller_, than it most certainly would be able to transmit a message."

"We will see," the medic replied wryly.

When the first transmission came in, it had caused quite a stir amongst everyone on base. It had been the reason Bumblebee was so late picking his charges up from the Mission City clean up. The message was garbled, scrambled so badly in some places that not a word could be deciphered, but the Autobot signature that accompanied it rang through loud and clear. _Finally_, they were not alone in the universe. Much to the teens' annoyance, their restriction from the Autobot base was still in place and they were unable to join in on the celebrations.

Not long after, a second transmission came through, this one being thankfully clear, understandable, and causing a lot more excitement than the first. It contained several messages for Optimus Prime and crew; a ship of well-known trackers was on its way, having come through a recently discovered wormhole. Not to mention that a Decepticon ship was also en route and that proper defensive measures should be implemented. A time was also specified in the message, suggesting when the Autobot vessel would be close enough for open-channel communications. After much begging, pleading, and promises to not exert themselves doing hard labour on the base, Sam and Mikaela's ban from the Autobot's base was lifted in order to be part of the momentous first-contact occasion.

"Coffee, anyone?" a lightly accented voice offered, the sweet smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting to gathered humans lounging on the ratty couches arranged on the balcony for their comfort. Maggie's smile was kind, if a little tired, as she doled out cups of the divine brew to awaiting hands.

"You're a lifesaver, Mags," Epps groaned, the strong taste of straight up black coffee on his tongue snapping wakefulness back into him.

"Doughnut?" Glen offered, an open box of beautiful glazed perfection now on display.

"Thanks for doing this, you two," Will said, taking a bite out of his bear claw. "A second longer and I would have been out cold."

Maggie shrugged, settling down on the arm of an overstuffed couch. "No problem. I needed a little fresh air, anyways. It feels like I've been living on this base all summer- camping beneath a mountain of paperwork."

"Speak for yourself," Epps laughed. "We _have_ been living on base all summer, _with Simmons." _Understandably, a collective shudder ran through the humans.

Glen peered over the railing of the balcony, watching as Ratchet, Optimus, and Ironhide shifted from one console to the other, adjusting, fixing, making sure everything was perfect for the impending first-contact call. "So, what they say the names of the new guys were?" he wondered.

"They don't have names yet," Mikaela replied. "Not translatable ones, anyways, and it would be rude to just make up names for them now without their knowledge. We just have to wait until they get to Earth. Although, I think I heard Optimus call the ship the "_Uller._""

Maggie cocked her head to the side, considering the name. It sounded familiar, like from a bird course she'd taken in university. "The Norse god of hunting?" she ventured. It sounded right to her even as she said it. "Interesting choice, considering the Autobots on board are supposed to be amazing trackers."

"That's what I've heard, too" Will confirmed. He'd been hearing it from Ironhide all week; two mechs from Intelligence and Espionage and one from Tactical, all three considered to be relative pacifists by the cannon-toting Topkick. Amazing in their own respective fields, of course, just not up to the same gun-blazing glory Ironhide prided himself on.

"How come the ship gets a name? Ain't that rude too, naming a ship without the captain's permission?" Glen pestered.

"Optimus probably named it for convenience's sake," Maggie reasoned, discretely placing another doughnut in her assistant's hand to quickly shut him up. "Naming an inanimate object is a little different from naming a person."

"I guess…" Glen conceded.

Finally, Bumblebee wandered back into the command center, uttering a few choice whistles and shrieks and catching the eager attention of the humans. A short, quick Cybertronian dialogue went on between the scout and Ratchet, then Prime spoke up, said something to the medic, and then presumably thanked Bumblebee for his assistance adjusting their hub. Their electronic voices were nearly indistinguishable from one another, high-pitched and electronic as they were.

Soon after, with the humans watching in rapt fascination, a monitor came to life, flooding the room in cool, bright blue light. Bumblebee twittered excitedly, coming over to the balcony to collect Sam and Mikaela, placing them on his shoulders so that they would have the best seats in the house.

"They are almost ready," he informed the humans, his optics wide and bright. "We will have contact with the _Uller_ in a matter of minutes."

"That's great!" Sam exclaimed, feeling palpable excitement run through the yellow armor beneath him as a static-choked image materialized.

Over the electric buzz, Glen's loud whisper could be clearly discerned. _"Oh man, this is awesome! We're about to make contact with real live aliens in outer space!" _This promptly earned him four disbelieving stares from the four aliens present in the room, not to mention his fellow humans shaking their heads disbelievingly.

"Glen, I think "first contact" has already been taken care of," Epps said flatly.

Optimus smiled wryly. "I would hope so."

The Cybertronians returned to the monitor they were trying to clear up, Ratchet snapping something to Ironhide, who moved quickly to input the adjustment into the computer. Slowly, a clearer image formed, the vague outline of a Cybertronian slowly defining itself. Colour leaked in, black and white to a startling icy-blue. Background detail became apparent, two more Cybertronians crowding close behind the angular-faced, ice-blue mech that stood at the forefront of the screen. Sound came last, first as a low crackling like an out-of-tune radio, and then a Cybertronian voice came through loud and clear.

"**Optimus Prime, this is Master Spy Mirage, Captain of the tracking ship **_**Uller. **_**I hope we are being received well; our communications have been acting up ever since we passed through a wormhole to get here." **

A smile crossed Optimus's faceplate as he gazed at the mech he knew as Mirage. Hound and Smokescreen stood close by, awed by the sight of their Supreme Commander. **"No, we are receiving you loud and clear, old friend," **Prime replied. **"No need for such formalities, though; it's been so long since we've seen another friendly faceplate, don't ruin it with pompous rank and rules." **

In the background, Smokescreen made a gesture of triumph, his low voice carrying over the communications channel as he whispered to Hound. _**"See? I knew he'd be as lax as always-." **_Optimus raised an optic ridge as Ratchet, Ironhide, and Bumblebee snickered. Upon realizing he was caught, Smokescreen offered a guilty shrug. **"I meant- er… **_**causal as always,**_** sir."**

"**No, Smokescreen, "lax" sounds about right," **Ratchet replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. Despite the countless vorns that they had been separated from their comrades, friends, and home, the balm of speaking with old, familiar faceplates was good, soothing, and quick spreading.

Optimus, notably, made no move to contradict the 'lax' accusation. Instead, he pressed on with the conversation at hand. **"I hope your journey here was fair." **

"**As fair as it could be, considering wormholes are not the smoothest way to travel," **Mirage replied. **"It was not made any easier with Smokescreen hijacking the communications while within the singularity." **

**"It was a crime of passion," **Smokescreen retorted. **"Can you blame me if I wanted to let you guys know that _someone_ was on their way?"**

**"The sentiment is appriciated, Smokescreen, but I'd imagine more self-control from someone in Prowl's division," **Optimus ventured, offering Smokescreen a humoured look. Said mech only managed to look mildly chastised.

"**We've all be living on this ship for a long time, Optimus," **he shrugged. **"We've kind of let things slip to the wayside- like rules, for instance, or care for personal space, **_**hygiene**_**…" **His accusatory gaze fell upon the guilty looking Hound, whose armor was crusted with careless spatters of dried mud from the last organic planet they'd landed on.

"**It seems the first thing I will be doing when you land is a full maintenance check," **Ratchet said dryly, eyeing Hound's collected mud with wry amusement.

"**That aside, I am glad to see that you are all in good health and here in one piece," **Optimus said. **"Relatively clean and sane." **

"_**Relatively."**_Ratchet parroted dubiously.

"**Glad to be here in this neck of the galaxy, Optimus, sir," **Hound piped in, now absently trying to scratch his mud off. **"It's good to see you all again… For so long, we didn't know what to think. We hadn't heard anything for so long- some were starting to think you were dead, and then your message came through…" **His optics roved over the assembled group, counting the faceplates, taking them in. **"Oh no, where's Jazz?" **

The Earthbound Autobots glanced to each other before their gazes fell, stances sagging. There'd been too many casualties in war not to know what that body language meant.

_"_**_Primus, I'm sorry,"_ **the scout murmured quietly. **"Jazz was a good mech. I never imagined that he would-." **

"**He died fighting Megatron," **Ironhide said gruffly, cutting Hound off. **"He went out fighting."**

"**Of course," **Mirage intoned**. "We would expect nothing less of him." **

Sam leaned towards Bumblebee's audio receptor, noting the change in mood even if he didn't know what they were saying. "What's going on?"

"They just found out about Jazz," Bumblebee replied quietly.

Sam slid back a little, shoulders drooping. "Oh…" Even if he had never explicitly asked about Cybertronian funeral rites or whatever they did with their dead, he knew that Jazz's remains were stored in the med bay with Ratchet, pending restoration once a break in construction came about. He didn't get to know the silver bot well in the short time he'd been on Earth, but the loss of Jazz could easily be seen in the comrades he'd left behind.

"**Have you decided what to do with the remains?" **Mirage asked solemnly.

"**We will be leaving that in Prowl's hands when he arrives," **Optimus replied. **"Until then, Ratchet plans restore the frame." **

Smokescreen sighed, his hand scrubbing at his faceplate. **"Primus, Prowl's been so **_**different**_** since Jazz left with you guys, you have no idea… When he finds out- well, this might be the thing that snaps him." **

Hound gave the other mech a swat. **"Don't say things like that." **

"**If a problem arises when Prowl arrives, we will face it when it happens," **Optimus reasoned.

"**Speaking of problems we will have to face, I assume that you received our second transmission pertaining to the oncoming threat of the **_**Darksyde**_**?" **Mirage inquired.

"**Yes, we have," **Optimus replied. **"The forewarning is very much appreciated, although the circumstances under which you encountered the ship were quite intriguing. If am I recalling it right, you reported that the **_**Darksyde**_** crew **_**attacked**_** the **_**Nemesis**_**?" **

"**Yes, sir," **Mirage affirmed.** "Last time we saw it, the _Nemesis_ was infected, set adrift, and heading for the nearest star."**

Ratchet looked sceptical while Ironhide rumbled suspiciously. **"The Decepticons are infamous for their discordance, but to attack the Nemesis? It sounds unlikely even for them. Are you sure you were reading your sensor readouts right?" **The weapons specialist asked.

"**Believe me, we were as flabbergasted as you are," **Hound said.** "Only a single escape was launched, but the life sign was so weak I doubt it survived a joor after we left." **

"**The only Decepticon to leave Earth was Starscream," **Ratchet intoned pensively.

"**Starscream, huh?" **Hound quirked a wry look to Mirage and Smokescreen.

"**Suddenly the universe makes sense again," **Smokescreen joked.

"**What do you mean?"** Ironhide asked, optics narrowed.

**"The _Darksyde_ crew consisted of the universe's foremost Starscream-haters. It's no mystery why they attacked if he was the only one on board," **Hound answered with a shrug.** "He was so messed up escaping the ship that our sensors could barely get a reading off of him. Like I said, I doubt he survived a joor after we left."**

"**He's dead, then?" **Ironhide inquired.

"**Most likely," **Hound replied.

"**We can always hope," **Smokescreen piped in. **"Not like we're going to miss him or anything."**

Mirage made a noise like rocks in a blender, the Cybertronian equivalent to clearing one's throat for attention.** "In regards to the Darksyde and its approach to Earth-?" **he broached, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"**We have already begun to take the appropriate measures against any form of Decepticon attack," **Ironhide said. **"The humans have proven up to the challenge of arming themselves adequately against the threat. We will be ready should anyone choose to launch an attack." **

"**Good. While the **_**Darksyde**_** is not a large ship, Virus and her crew are still dangerous," **Mirage warned.

**"Dangerous or not, I have no intention of starting a firefight if it can be helped. If the ship does not take a hostile stance against us or this planet, we will watch them but not provoke a fight." **Optimus said.

**"A wise decision," **Mirage conceded.

"**Virus is on the _Darksyde_?"** Bumblebee uttered**.** _Virus_, the monster that had infected Arcee and nearly killed her with an Alpha-class virus. His memories surrounding the events of the _Ark_'s attack in the Black Expanse and the orns following it were hazy, disjointed, but he remembered the quadruped, the black-armored beast. Hatred, unbidden in his spark, suddenly flared within him. Virus was the creature that had hurt Arcee, nearly _killed_ her. Next to him, a deep rumbling snarl emanated from within Ironhide. The weapons specialist had not forgotten what the quadruped had done to Arcee, either.

"**She's the viral specialist we had trouble with before the **_**Ark**_** was launched, am I right?" **Ratchet enquired.

"**Yes," **Mirage nodded**. "She's had a lot of time to develop new ammunition for her viral warfare. I suggest extreme caution if you're forced to engage her. As a matter of fact, I advise extreme caution if engaging any member of the crew, _especially_ Flamewar and Soundwave. They are skilled, deadly warriors, as you might know." **

"**Flamewar and Soundwave? The Femme Commander and Communications Officer for the Decepticons?" **Optimus asked, drawing back in surprise.** "Have they defected?"**

"**In a way. But nonetheless, they are dangerous." **

"**We can take them!"** Bumblebee spat, a hot, restless feeling burning in him. He had a score to settle with Virus, and if any of her crew got inthe way they'd pay too! Sam and Mikaela shrieked, jolted from Bee's shoulders from the vehemence that the scout used to slam his fist down on the console. They were saved from a sixteen foot drop by Optimus' large hand shooting out and catching them.

"**Bumblebee, calm down. We do not need anyone acting rashly," **he chastised, keeping Sam and Mikaela cupped in his own hand. Bumblebee caught sight of Sam and Mikaela in his Commander's hand and realized that he must have knocked them off accidentally. Twittering, he reached out to take them back, but Optimus held up his free hand to stall him. **"I know you and Ironhide were wronged by Virus, and I'm sure that all of us feel a certain need to seek vengeance against her, but now is not the time to allow our sparks to run away with us. We must keep steady heads." **

"**Optimus is right, little one," **Mirage said**. "Going into a fight with any of the **_**Darksyde**_**'s crew with nothing but vengeance on your processor will result in more bots getting hurt than necessary. Remember your training; a good scout bids his time for the perfect time to strike." **

"**Yes, sir…" **Bumblebee replied quietly, chastised and humble now, though the restlessness embers of vengance still stirred. **"It's just- she hurt Arcee…" **Even after all the vorns that had passed, Bumblebee still felt a strange fluttering in his spark when he thought of the tiny, brave femme.

"**I know, but it is best you save your energy for... for when you'll need it…" **Mirage shared a glance with his crew, who both sighed and shook their heads discretely. They knew something, but were reluctant to say it in front of Bumblebee.

Missing the exchange, Bumblebee held out his hands to take back his human charges and Optimus relented, allowing Sam and Mikaela to hop back onto the scout's smaller hands.

"Just give us a warning before you do something like that again, Bee," Sam said as he stepped back onto Bumblebee's warm palm. "It's a long way down, you know."

"I know, I am sorry," he replied quietly. "I just… found something out that made me very-," he paused, searching for the right word. "-_angry._"

Mikaela raised a hand, close enough to Bumblebee's faceplate to allow her to touch the warm metal plating of his "cheek." "Is everything okay?"

"I am not sure…"

Hound perked up, finally taking notice of the tiny organic creatures in the room alongside the Autobots. His optics darted curiously from the two in Bumblebee's hands to the four gathered at the rear wall on a narrow balcony. They possessed the general shape of a normal bot, with two arms, two legs, torso and head, but covered in flesh instead of metal plating. Their faces were strangely similar in structure, unlike Cybertronian faceplates which could be constructed in any functional fashion. He quickly accessed the files of Earth he'd copied and downloaded, realizing that what he was staring at were real, live _humans._

"**So those are humans?" **he asked lightly, inching closer to the screen to get a better look. Mirage and Smokescreen's attention suddenly fell to the humans as well, curious of the small life forms.

Bumblebee held up Sam and Mikaela.** "Yes, these are humans, the dominant species of the planet." **

"**Amazing," **Hound breathed in awe. They were so _small_, as small as some microbots, and incredibly fragile looking.

"Bee, what's he doing?" Sam asked, shying away from the unblinking, wide optics.

"He's fascinated by you," Bumblebee replied, moving the teens to his shoulders for their comfort. "He is a scout like I am, but before the war he was an explorer and an… "Anthropologist" you might say."

"He is harmless though," Optimus said, smiling. "No need to be nervous."

Reassured by Bee and Optimus, Sam and Mikaela returned their gaze to the dark green mech still watching them raptly. They waved to him awkwardly, making his optics brighten and he mirrored the gesture enthusiastically.

"He's friendly, isn't he," Epps said, offering his own jaunty wave, which Hound returned.

"I'd say so," Will laughed, joining in on the fun.

Mirage rolled his optics, but Smokescreen found the interaction amusing and joined in.

"**So… Are we making a good impression?" **Smokescreen asked while waving his hand to the organics.

Bumblebee beamed.** "Yes, very much so."**

"**If you have already downloaded the language files I sent in my transmission, you can access the one marked "English" to communicate with them if you wish," **Optimus suggested.

"**Even for an organic species such as themselves, they are very intelligent and highly adaptable," **Ratchet said**. "Even if their language is a little awkward at times, conversation with them can be interesting."**

"_**Really**_**?" **Eagerly, Hound dove through his language files to find "English." Upon activating the program, he realized that their Cybertronian names had poor translatability into English. Doing a quick search through the dictionary of English words he had saved, he selected a nomenclature that sounded accurate enough. He transmitted it to Mirage and Smokescreen, who, in turn, sent their chosen English designations.

To calm himself, he took a drag of air through his intakes. He was as excited now as he was every time he made contact with a new species. Carefully scouring his reservoir of English greetings, he selected the one he deemed the best. "Hello."

The first to respond was the dark-haired female on Bumblebee's shoulder. She smiled and waved again. "Hi."

"It is nice to meet you," Hound ventured. "You may call me Hound."

Optimus smiled, amused by the chosen name. "Hound?"

"Yes, and they are Mirage and Smokescreen." The two mechs bowed when their respective name was given.

"Those are well chosen designations," the Supreme Commander said, smiling even wider. "I am Optimus Prime in this language, along with Ironhide, Ratchet, and Bumblebee," and said mechs bowed as their name was given, "and our human friends here would be Samuel Witwicky-,"

""Sam" is fine, though," the boy cut in.

"Mikaela Banes-,"

"Nice to meet you."

"The humans on the balcony are Captain William Lennox-,"

"Aw, common Optimus, I said you could call me "Will.""

"Technical Sergeant Robert Epps-,"

""Epps" is fine by me."

"Maggie Madsen-,"

"It's a pleasure."

"And Glen Whitman-."

"Uh…yeah, hi."

"It will be a pleasure to meet you all in person," Mirage said, his voice modulated to be smooth, aristocratic, whereas Hound had a deeper voice, a little more relaxed sounding.

"I'm sure the pleasure will be all ours," Maggie quipped, leaning on the balcony railing.

"From what Optimus has sent us of Earth, it looks like you have a very interesting planet," Hound said.

"We'd be glad to give you the grand tour," Will laughed.

Suddenly, the image on the monitor fizzled, static spewing from the speakers.

"Optimus, what's happening? You're breaking up," Mirage called. Hound swiftly went to tactical to try and clear up the signal. Ratchet worked from their side, rapidly typing in a sequence.

"No, no, no- the signal's loosing strength! Something's interfering-!" the medic cursed.

"It's not Decepticons, is it?" Smokescreen demanded, turning to Hound who shook his head quickly.

Ironhide snorted harshly, knowing exactly what the problem was. He marched to the hangar entrance, throwing the doors open. "Get off our hub, you fragging rodents!" he commanded to the birds, charging his cannons.

"Ironhide, no! You'll incinerate the tower!" Optimus yelled, diving for the black-armored mech.

"Wait! Before you're gone, when do you think you'll make it to Earth?" Bumblebee enquired.

Mirage considered the question. _"_About an orn-." More static threatened to consume the screen.

_"-By the way, congratulations on getting your voice back, Bumblebee!"_ Hound shouted as the monitor finally fizzled out one last time, going completely black.

"...Are they gone?" Glen wondered.

"Yeah, we completely lost them." Ratchet sighed, sagging. "We'll have to realign the communications tower and input a whole new set of communication encodes if we wish to speak with them again. _Damn this technology we're working with."_

"At least we know they'll be to Earth in a… what did he say? An orn?" Mikaela asked.

"How long's an orn?" Sam asked, looking to Bumblebee for the answer.

"Assuming that he was using "orn" as a "day" equivalent in Cybertronian terms, an orn would be approximately-," the scout paused to calculate, cross-referencing a full rotation of Cybertron to a rotation of Earth, "six days, at most."

"Nearly a week, then" Sam confirmed. He grinned excitedly, peering around Bumblebee's head to his girlfriend of the other side. "So, Mikaela, up for a little bit of "camping" in about a week's time?"

She smiled impishly in return. "You know it."


	4. Go Camping

I want to sincerely thank each and every one of my wonderful readers and reviewers for their valued patience in waiting for this chapter. Things have been busy and hectic in my life and I have had a lot of trouble finding the time to work on _As We Come Together_. I apologize for the long wait, as well for the slightly monotone chapter I am presenting to you here. This is merely a setup chapter for the action that is to come in chapter 5 so I hope you can bear with me until then.

My dearest thanks goes out to all my reviewers, **Daebereth, Elita One, Caz, Jason M. Lee, TheRavenQuoth, Hakkyou no Tenshi, Bunnylass, Storm Blue Lightning Saix, Lady Tecuma, theshadowcat, mutated glow worm, Stripperella, Freakish Child, Twospotz, Bluebird Soaring, Silveriss,** and **Litahatchee**. You are all too wonderful for words!

Also, my thanks, as well as the dedication of this chapter, goes out to **Lady Tecuma** and **Litahatchee** for their amazing patience with me and reading over this chapter. Thank you so much you to. And thank you **Lita** for helping me to decide how to end the chapter.

_The three songs Bumblebee plays- "I'm With You" _by Avril Lavigne, _"Wake Up Call" _by Maroon 5, and _"Knocking on Heaven's Door"- _Gun'n'Roses version.

**As We Come Together**

**In Which Sam and Mikaela go "Camping"**

The early-morning air was still sweet with the scent of night lingering on it, cool and fresh, with only a hint of mowed grass. Bumblebee's dash glowed dimly in the brightening light, the time being almost seven in the morning. Neither the Camaro nor his passenger seemed affected by the relatively early hour (by summer standards), speaking animatedly with each other as Bee manoeuvred his way through the narrow streets of Mikaela's subdivision.

"Okay, so let me get this straight, an orn is one day on Cybertron, which is about six days on Earth; a vorn is one Cybertronian year, which is around 83 Earth years… a breem is like the equivalent of 6.5 hours, and a joor is like 8.3 minutes?"

"Close, but you mixed up breem and joor; a breem is 8.3 minutes and a joor is 6.5 hours."

"I was close," Sam shrugged. "How come all your time is so much longer than ours?"

"What makes you think our time is long?" Bee laughed. "What if it is _your_ time increments that are short?"

"You… have a point," Sam sighed. If practically _everything_ human was small compared to Cybertronian, then why not time, too?"

"In any case, Cybertron's measurements of time are larger than Earth's because our planet is much larger, and our orbit is further from our star," Bumblebee explained.

"Makes sense, I guess," the human replied. "Was it hard adjusting to Earth time, then? I mean, if an orn is six days, doesn't it get annoying that us humans sleep six times an orn, even if it's for only a little over a-," he paused to remember which one was 6.5 hours, "-joor?"

"At first, yes, it was very frustrating. Now, not so much," Bumblebee replied. "The others, as well as myself, have adjusted our internal chronometers to simultaneously keep track of both times so that we are better in tune with the rhythms of Earth. It helps us to understand the patterns that you live by, therefore helping us adjust to life here."

"Things must seem like they go by in the blink of an eye to you, huh?"

"Sometimes," Bumblebee replied. "I must admit, I am still having trouble wrapping my processor around the thought of your comparatively shorter life spans."

"Uh…yeah, it's different, isn't it?" What else was he to say to that? His best friend was nigh-immortal, and Sam himself was _not_, reminding him of how much a speck of time he was compared to the rest of Bumblebee's long life.

Bumblebee instantly picked up on the accidental faux pas he might have committed; reminding beings of their own mortality was _never_ a mood lifter. "Sam, I am sorry if I said something-,"

"-Nah, Bee, don't worry about it," Sam cut in quickly, waving it off with a dismissive flick of his hand. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I mean, it's only _fair_ for you to think like that. I have a hard enough time trying to think about you guys being able to live _millions_ of years." He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "How about a subject change, though? Death and how close I am to it aren't exactly my forte- let's go with something a little farther away from home."

"Did you have a subject in mind?"

"How about… Cybertron? That's far enough away from home, don't you think?"

"Quite far," Bumblebee replied. "What would you like to know about it?"

"Good question." Sam hummed a little bit, stewing over what he wanted to know first. There were so many things he could ask about the alien planet. "How big was Cybertron? I'm guessing bigger than Earth, right? It'd have to be to fit all of you."

Glad for the change, Bumblebee quickly answered, "Cybertron was roughly the size of Saturn, though not all Cybertronians necessarily lived on the planet. We had many colonies stationed on other planets, and in asteroid fields for mining as well. Plus, Cybertron had two orbiting moons which were colonized."

"You guys lived on your moons too?" Sam asked wondrously. "That's wicked. What's it like to live on a moon? What did you call your moons? Were they rock moons like here, or were they metal moons?"

Electronic static, most likely laughter, issued from the speakers. Sam certainly had become curious about all things Cybertronian ever since they had connected with the _Uller_. "Like everything else in our language, Cybertron's moons do not translate well, so for convenience sake, we will call them Monoluna and Diluna."

"Moon One and Moon Two? _Creative_."

"They are adequate names for the purpose of this conversation," the Camaro replied, bobbing on his shocks in the equivalent of a shrug. "They were made of the same metal as Cybertron's core, an element that does not seem to exist in this part of the galaxy. Although, Cybertron's core, as well as the moons, does have elements in common with Earth, such as iron, titanium, cobalt, and tungsten."

"Awesome," the human breathed in awe. "But what was _living_ on the moons like?"

"I cannot personally say. I have never had the opportunity to ever be on either Monoluna or Diluna, but I have been told that they were quite beautiful. If you are really curious about it, you could go ask Optimus or Ironhide; both of them have been to the moons."

Sam settled back into his seat, trying to comprehend what life would be like on the moon. "Yeah, I think I'll ask them some time…"

They turned onto Mikaela's street, making their way up the quiet drive to the familiar house.

"Think Mikaela's up by now?" Sam asked.

"Undoubtedly. Mikaela is far earlier riser than you are."

"Thanks," he retorted flatly. "Think she's already packed then, smartass?" He glanced over to the passenger's seat where his own duffle sat, stuffed to the brim with all the needed accoutrements a teenager would need if they were staying a week on a base built for alien refugees.

"She has probably been packed for days now."

"I wouldn't put it passed her."

Bumblebee pulled up to the house, idling quietly. Sam glanced to door of the house, waiting expectantly, only to be disappointed when no one appeared. Usually he and Bee only had to wait a second before the front door swung open and Mikaela came marching out. Reluctant to beep the horn when so many people on the block were still sleeping, Sam simply stayed where he was. Bumblebee revved gently, his radio switching on-

"_-I'm standing on the bridge, waiting in the dark. I thought that you'd be here by now…" _

"Everybody has their off days," Sam reasoned. "Maybe she's still asleep? She could have forgotten to set her alarm."

"_Wake up call! Caught you in the morning with another one in my bed-." _

"Alright, wake up call it is," he said, sliding from the cab of the Camaro. "But if she tries to kill me for ruining her beauty sleep, you're taking full blame."

From the curb, he carefully made his way up to the door, waving to the early-bird jogging couple as they made their way down the road together. They waved back to him, recognizing him as the nice boy who had been frequenting Mikaela's place throughout the summer. As far as they knew, he was the _nicest_ boy they'd ever seen the Banes girl bring home.

As they continued on their way, Sam glanced over to the large shed next to the house. The door was left open, the ass end of an old, grey '91 Honda Civic sticking out. Parked directly behind it in the driveway was a monstrous looking Jeep Gladiator; huge, black, and badass. From where Sam was standing, he could not spot Mikaela's Vespa.

Bumblebee honked once, his radio playing softly- _"Knock, knock, knocking on Heaven's door…" _

"Okay, okay, I'm knocking, _see_?" He made a show of rapping his knuckles against the door, waiting for someone to answer. No one came. Knocking again yielded the same result. He leaned over to peer into the nearby dark window, and then pressed his ear close to the door to see if he could catch anything stirring within. Nothing.

Slightly puzzled, Sam reviewed the time and date, making sure that he hadn't accidentally screwed something up in his mental calendar. It was Saturday, the day he and Mikaela had decided to go to the Autobot's base to set up camp; he had that much right. It was roughly around seven, the designated time in which Sam and Bumblebee were supposed to come pick her up, he was _sure_ he had that right too.

So, if he had the right day and time, where was Mikaela?

A little spooked by the mystery, Sam jumped when Bumblebee's horn chirped sharply in the morning air. "Try the door," the Autobot offered.

"Right, sure." Upon twisting the knob, the door gave away easily. Becoming a little anxious, Sam poked his head. _"Hello?"_ he called, and received no answer. _"Hello?" _No stranger to the Banes' residence, he let himself in, wandering further into the stifling silence. _"Mikaela?" _

Nothing appeared out of its usual disorder, the clutter of his girlfriend's house appearing untouched, undisturbed. Making his way out of the main entrance that stood off the to the side of the kitchen, he felt his way through the room, pausing to debate whether or not to peer into the living room first or wander down to Mikaela's bedroom to check there instead. His decision was made for him when a muffled noise reached his ears.

A snort maybe… or a _growl_.

Nervous for a reason he could not identify, he stepped into the doorway of the living room, preparing himself for what he would find. To his utter relief, it was not any manner or ghost, ghoul, witch or beast. Not even a Decepticon. It was human as far as he could tell. Hidden amongst the musty clutter of clothes, glass bottles, and tools dropped wherever, sprawled face down on a sunken couch shoved against the far wall, was Mikaela's aunt, _Chase_. She was scarcely distinguishable from the room, still clad in her rumpled clothes from the night before, hair mussed and wild, twisted in an old afghan as she snored.

Sighing, Sam waded through the room towards the sleeping woman. He was familiar enough with his girlfriend's legal guardian to know what the morning after a Friday night looked like. He even spotted the glassy gleam of a Smirnoff bottle glittering near the corner of the couch in a mote of light, three-quarters empty.

Cautiously, he prodded the woman's shoulder. _"Chase?"_

No response.

He prodded fractionally harder, testing his luck. _"Chase?" _

There was an unintelligible noise, and then, "_F-off." _

Sam sighed, not surprised by the gruff greeting. "Do you know where Mikaela is?"

The reply was an indistinguishable grunt that could have been English had the woman not been lying face down.

"What?"

"_Curtains, moron,"_ she repeated. One hand rose to point at the open windows streaming bright morning light into the small room. Understanding now, he hopped over the low coffee table and tugged the thin linen curtains together, throwing the living room into a dim reprieve.

Safe from the glare of the sun, Chase grunted appreciatively. She rolled over onto her side to peer up at Sam with a squinty-eyed glare. "-the hell are you doing here, kid?" Her voice was rough, croaky.

"I'm here to pick up Mikaela. Do you know where she is?" he asked.

"She went to get coffee," she replied hoarsely.

_Coffee, of course._ "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Soon, I hope." Her dark eyes gave Sam a quick once over before squinting shut again. "You look like shit," she grunted.

Sam instantly had to bite back the _"look who's talking" _retort that danced on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he gave himself a once over, realizing that in his rush to get to Mikaela's on time, he hadn't showered, his shirt was on backwards, and the pants he was wearing were from his dirty pile, still caked with grime from the Mission City clean up. He _did_ look a little like shit. "Ah, damn…"

A long fingered hand dipped down from the couch and searched blindly along the floor until the fingertips brushed against cool glass. Taking up the Smirnoff bottle, Chase downed an impressive portion of it before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and giving off a pained laugh. "Y'know what? Shower before Mickey gets here," she offered, flopping back face-down on the couch. "Just don't be loud about it."

"Uh- right, thanks."

Now assured that Mikaela was safe, and fully intending to take up Chase's offer of a shower, Sam ran back out to Bumblebee to grab his duffle and warn the Camaro that he might be waiting a while. Dashing back into the house and making a beeline for the bathroom, he ducked in. He attempted to lock the door too, but found that lock was broken- unsurprising amongst all the other things that had fallen into disrepair around the Banes' place. Letting it go for the time being, he stripped down and stepped into the shower, feeling a little giddy that he was showering in the same shower that Mikaela did, _naked_.

His shower wasn't a long one, but it was long enough for Mikaela to arrive home from her errand to find Bumblebee idling alone on her curb. She slipped her Vespa into the shed next to the Civic and sidled up to the robot in disguise.

"What's a handsome Camaro like you doing in a rundown place like this?" she asked playfully, leaning against Bee's sunny-yellow side.

"Waiting for you," Bumblebee replied, missing the joke.

Chuckling a little, Mikaela glanced around. "Where's Sam? Did you come here by yourself?"

"No, he's inside waiting."

"Ah…" Her smile faded fractionally. "He's with Chase then." It wasn't that she didn't trust Sam to be around Chase, it was more like she didn't trust Chase to be around Sam. "Well, I guess I'll just go drag him out." She offered the Camaro a pat on the hood before bounding off towards the door.

Slipping in through the kitchen, she easily manoeuvred her way around the clutter, wading into the living room. Chase had somehow managed to sprawl herself across the couch in a semi-sitting position, rumpled, hung over, with her hand outstretched awaiting her coffee.

"Took you long enough," she groused, plucking the offered cup from her niece's hands.

Mikaela snorted indelicately, eyes searching the room. "Where's Sam?"

Chase shrugged. "He probably buggered off somewhere to smell your pillow or raid your underwear drawer- whatever teenaged boys do these days." She chugged back a few mouthfuls of the steaming black brew.

"Would you lay off him? Sam is not a bad person," Mikaela said, defending her boyfriend.

"Correction; he's not _that _bad," Chase persisted, "but he _is_ a testosterone-driven teenage boy and there's always _something_ bad about them, even dorks like Sam."

"Sam's the nicest boyfriend I've ever had, so _be nice_ to him," Mikaela warned, glaring down at her aunt.

"I'm always _nice_," Chase growled. "Besides, he's a pansy. I'm afraid if I'm _really_ mean to him, I'll make him cry."

"Just don't scare him away." Sam truly was the only boyfriend, or even _friend_, she had allowed to get to know the real her, the car-loving, shabby-homed, not-so-girly Mikaela, and she'd be damned if Chase ruined it for her.

Her aunt offered a wry smile. "Don't worry; I won't do anything to him. You'll do a fine enough job of scaring him off on your own."

"_Thanks,"_ she replied flatly. "Look, you've probably been out cold this entire time, so I'm not going to bother asking again where Sam is. I'll just look for him on my own."

"Have fun."

Oblivious to the conversation, Sam was already out of the shower and half-dressed, his dirty clothes rumpled into a ball and shoved into the deep recesses of his duffle. Just as he was donning a clean pair of jeans, the bathroom door swung open. There was a surreal, deer-in-headlights moment as the two teenagers stood staring at each other, Sam slightly hunched with his hand paused over the zipper of his pants, Mikaela frozen in the doorway with her mouth slightly open.

"Sam?"

"Mikaela?!"

Without even meaning to, Mikaela's gaze dropped from Sam's face. Something flickered in her eyes, a wanton expression Sam had only dreamed of girls having when they looked at him. It sent a thrill through him. Catching his own reflection in the foggy mirror, he realized exactly what she was seeing; a full summer's worth of hard labour out in the hot sun. He was dark from unintentional tanning, though a little burned on the shoulders and neck, skin peeling in some places. Nowhere near the Adonis body that Mikaela probably dreamed about, Sam had always had a wiry build, but a hint of definition was beginning to creep across his muscles. He was no Trent DeMarco; no big arms or washboard abs, no brain the size of a shrivelled peanut, but it was a boost to the male ego to know he was enough to make Mikaela look twice.

By the time her eyes traveled back to face, Sam was fidgeting self-consciously. "…Chase said it was okay to take a shower- the lock was broken, so..."

Mikaela gave herself a shake, snapping back to reality. "Yeah, sorry- the door's been broken for a while. She should have warned you. I'll, um- just leave you to get dressed, I guess…" A little awkward, a little flustered, Mikaela slipped out.

Chase had somehow already crawled into the kitchen and was slouched up on the countertop by the time Mikaela had slunk out of the bathroom. Her bloodshot eyes, dark as tar in the dim light, watched her niece with undisguised amusement.

"You could have warned me," Mikaela huffed, coming over to lean against the counter.

"Where's the fun in that?" Chase laughed lightly, popping some Advil into her mouth and drowning it in coffee. "Did you at least get to see pansy-boy naked?"

"I-,"

"Sorry, I had my pants on," Sam interrupted, wandering into the kitchen with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Both Banes' women turned to watch him approach and he was struck by how very similar Mikaela and her aunt really were. Chase was in her late thirties, though retained much of the appearance of her youth. She was eerily similar to Mikaela in all ways except her eyes- her eyes were harsh, weathered, like they'd seen too much.

"Too bad," the older woman shrugged. "And here I thought I'd made Mickey's day."

"Better luck next time," Sam replied. He turned to Mikaela. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, just let me get my bag," she trotted off to her room and returned with a stuffed tote bag.

Chase quirked an eyebrow at it. "How long are you planning on staying out?"

Sam shot his girlfriend an incredulous look. "You didn't _tell_ her?"

"Tell me what?"

Mikaela shrugged uncaringly. "Sam and I are going camping for a week."

"_Right."_ Chase put a hand to her head to ward off her pounding headache until the Advil kicked in. "And what makes you think I'll let you go? I'm leaving to go back home for a couple days, someone has to look after the house."

"You never told me you were going home!" Mikaela exclaimed.

"You never told me you were going camping," Chase replied nonchalantly.

Mikaela squared her shoulders, ready for a faceoff. "Dammit, Chase! Can't you go home another time?"

"It's not like I can pick up my shit any time and zip up home, you know," Chase huffed. "If you hadn't noticed, Newfoundland's a little _far_ from here. Friends of mine are having a party and I'm going up to celebrate with them. Tough love for you, sweetheart. Go camping some other time."

"Can't we get one of the neighbours to look after the house instead, so both of us can leave?" Mikaela pleaded, intentionally raising her voice to aggravate her aunt.

Chase grimaced. "Why are you so freaking intent on this camping trip _now_? Can't you wait until I get back? I'm not going to be gone that long- I'll be back before school starts so you'll have time to do what you want."

"That won't work. This whole camping trip is for some friends of ours- they have some buddies coming in who they haven't seen in a long while and this trip is going to be like a 'welcome to the area' kind of deal. It's really important to me. _Please_, _Chase?_"

The woman sat there for a while studying her niece through squinted eyes, finally relenting with a shake of her head. "Fine, do what you want," the woman groused, waving off her niece. "I'll ask the neighbours to keep an eye on the house."

"Thank you!" Mikaela moved in to envelope her aunt in a hug, which was returned with a groan.

"Whatever, just don't get arrested for any stupid shit, okay? I'm not going to be here to pay bail."

Sam grinned brightly. "Thanks for this, Chase." He would have hugged her too but didn't want to risk his own bodily safety.

She shrugged in reply, sliding off the counter and beginning to slouch back to her couch. "Just do one thing for me, kid," she said as she passed Sam.

"What?"

"_Don't_ get her pregnant."

Sam's face went red in record time.

"What did I tell you about scaring him?" Mikaela called after her aunt. Chase was already gone from view, but her short bark of laughter drifted out from the dim living room. Mikaela huffed and shook her head, grabbing Sam's hand and marching for the door. "Come on, we're out of here."

Without even a glance back, no goodbyes said, they were out of the house and making their way to where Bumblebee idled patiently. That was just how it was in the Banes' home; either occupant could leave for days at a time without much notice, without much fuss. As long as the bills were paid and house was looked after it didn't much matter what either woman did. Chase may have been Mikaela's legal guardian while her dad was serving his time, but she wasn't much of a guardian of anything; she allowed Mikaela to live her own life for the most part, and Mikaela let her aunt live hers.

It was lonely sometimes, but that was just the way things were.

Bumblebee revved his engine, doors opening as an invitation to get in. The moment the Camaro pulled away from the curb, Sam glanced over to Mikaela.

"I can't believe you left asking her to the very last minute," he said incredulously. "I mean, she could have said no."

Mikaela rolled her eyes. "Then I just would have snuck out. It's not like she could stop me."

Sam sighed. "At least she bought the camping bit."

"I could have told her I was going to a weekend-long frat party with a bunch of horny college boys and she still probably wouldn't have cared," Mikaela said indifferently.

Sam stared for a little bit. "…you haven't, by any chance, done that- _have you…? _You know, with the frat boys?_"_

She tilted her head slightly, offering her boyfriend a small smile. Without saying anything, she leaned in to press a light kiss to his cheek in hopes that he wouldn't press the subject. Sam was sweet and all, but a little a sheltered. She decided to change the subject. "Did your parents kick up a fuss when you told them you were going "camping?""

It was such an obvious subject change it could have held up a neon sign, but Sam allowed himself to be steered into the new topic for the sake of his girlfriend. He'd learned quickly that there were some things they just dropped with each other because their two different worlds didn't always mix so well. "They didn't have much of a problem with it when I told them who I'd be "camping" with," he replied, patting Bumblebee's dash smugly.

"I figured as much," Mikaela chuckled.

Judy and Ron Witwicky were both well aware of the nature of their son's car, and while they could accept that their son was under the guardianship of a sixteen-foot-tall alien robot and deeply entrenched in relations between their two species, they preferred to _not_ think about it. At best, they preferred to think the sunny-yellow '09 Camaro that sat in their driveway was nothing more than just a car. The moment Sam had mentioned he needed to be staying on base for a week, they quickly spit out their approval just so they wouldn't have to discuss the subject further.

Bumblebee's radio crackled cheerily, reminding them that the car they were ridding in wasn't just a hunk of metal. "Have you two figured out where you will be recharging yet?"

"Hopefully somewhere where we won't get stepped on," Sam replied.

"Maybe in the barracks with Will and the other humans," Mikaela shrugged. Sam shot her a pouty look- he had been thinking of finding a place on base a little more private, where they could be _alone_ for the night, teenaged hormones and all.

They could feel Bumblebee sink a little on his wheels. "Oh, yes, that would be a good place to recharge in," he said with barely-disguised disappointment.

"Did you have some other place in mind, Bee?" Sam asked, running his hand over the warm steering wheel as it turned on its own.

"Yes, I did," the Camaro replied. "I was hoping that you would stay with me in my quarters. I thought that it would be… 'fun' to have you stay with me."

The humans exchanged humoured glances, their faces breaking out into bright grins. "We'd love to stay with you, Bumblebee!" Mikaela exclaimed. "All you had to do was ask!"

"Really?"

"It'd be an awesome sleepover," Sam laughed. "But, isn't your room a little small for you already? Where are you going to stick us so we don't get in the way?"

Revving laughter vibrated the cab. "Do not worry about that. I installed a shelf so that you will not be on the floor or in the way, and there is a ladder so that you will have free access to it."

"I hope you didn't go to too much trouble for us, Bee,' Mikaela worried. "We could have just slept in a corner or somewhere out of the way."

"It is no trouble at all for friends," Bumblebee replied cheerily. "I am happy to have you stay with me."

"Staying with you is probably going to be ten times better than staying in the barracks!" Sam cheered, excited. "At least if we're in your quarters there's no chance of seeing Simmons anywhere."

"Do not worry about Simmons, Sam. His movement on base is greatly redistricted to only public areas and he is under constant surveillance. There is no chance of encountering him anywhere near my quarters." Judging by the edge to his voice, Bumblebee still held some animosity towards the agent and Sector Seven.

"That's a relief," Sam grinned. "So, have you been able to get in contact with the _Uller _again? Do you know exactly when they'll be landing?"

"We were able to re-establish contact with them last night as soon as we cleaned the communications hub of the nests the birds had constructed," Bumblebee replied, revving lightly. "The _Uller_ will be landing approximately two nights from now."

"Right on!" Sam cheered. "How about you step on it, Bee? Let's get to base and get this party started!"

* * *

It was a different kind of experience to actually sleep over in the Autobot's base instead of just working on it into the wee hours of the morning. To actually wake up in the alien compound and take that second in the morning to wonder where the hell you were was an experience all on its own. After you got over the giddiness of remembering you were sleeping in a base built for alien robots, the sense of wonder didn't quite fade, either. Every second you were there, you were reminded that aliens were _real _and you were part of a very small fraction of humans who knew about them. Hell, you were friends with them!

Sam and Mikaela's "shelf" in Bumblebee's quarters was certainly something else. It was about ten feet off the ground with only a single railing in place between safety and a sheer drop. No matter the danger, they slept there fine, huddled amid sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows that Sam had nicked from his house.

And as their host, Bumblebee did his best to accommodate them in his quarters, adjusting environmental controls in an almost OCD fashion to make sure his human guests were comfortable, muting most of the electronic hum that thrummed through the walls so they could get some sleep, and even requesting a day off in order to simply "hang out" with Sam and Mikaela. Their first night together, the three of them simply stayed up the entire night in true teenaged fashion, talking endlessly about every mundane subject they could possibly come up with- Bumblebee asked about the certain nuisances of human culture he was curious about while Sam and Mikaela grilled him on Cybertronian culture.

They ended up spending most of their time in the recently dubbed "human sector" where the barracks and other human-accommodating facilities were allocated. Will and Epps gave them the grand tour of it, which mostly consisted of one large open room stuffed with an eclectic stash of scrounged furniture, some gym equipment, and a second-hand radio blasting mildly static-choked music. The rec room was large enough for Bumblebee to walk around in if he watched his feet carefully. Along the upper portion of the room ran a narrow balcony much like the one in the command center, this one leading to various offices from which some of the humans could work from and into the exclusively human barracks which housed the on-site army troops and Sector Seven agents working to help construct the base.

Just as it had been at the beginning of the summer, the Autobot's base was a hub of activity. The time until the _Uller_'s landing swept by in what felt like a matter of breathless seconds.

"Report, Mirage."

"_We are entering the exosphere at a wide angle over the mid-North American continent," _Mirage detailed on the designated night of their scheduled planet fall. The open channel through which he and Optimus were speaking was being relayed through the Commander's speakers to allow the gathered onlookers to listen in as well.

It was a relatively cloudy night over the desert for the best cover so even as the Autobots and humans scanned the sky, they saw nothing but dark-grey heaps of evanescent water vapour.

"I suggest they pull up and head down a little further South before attempting planet fall," Ratchet offered. "We don't want the Uller exposed over too long of a range; there is too great a chance that a human may catch them through a telescope or some form of recording device and be able to decipher that that "falling star" they see is really a spacecraft."

"_Did you catch that, Mirage?" _Optimus asked.

"_Yes. Smokescreen is already correcting our course to take us further South," _The Master Spy replied.

"_Are the humans going to be there for when we land?" _Hound piped in.

"We're right here, Hound!" Will shouted good-naturedly, laughing a bit as he did.

"_Oh good! I do so look forward to meeting you in person!" _

"Well, hurry up and get down here so we can show you around!" Will replied. In honour of the _Uller_'s arrival, a car lot worth of car and various other modes of transport had been gathered so that the mechs could choose an Earth-blended alt mode as soon as possible. They figured Hound would want the grand tour the moment he was done being debriefed.

"Keep your sensors open for Decepticon activity," Ironhide warned. "The _Uller_ is vulnerable open in orbit like that. The _Darksyde_ may choose to attack."

"You're going to jinx them, Ironhide," Mikaela chastised lightly. "I'm sure they'll make it to Earth just fine."

"_She's right, Ironhide," _Smokescreen assured._ "This isn't the first time we've attempted planet fall with a Decepticon ship lurking about. If the _Darksyde_ attacks, we know how to handle-"_

A deep, hollow explosion rang through the comms.

"_Oh slag." _Smokescreen cursed.

Immediately, everyone's hackles were up. Sam gulped, leaning towards Mikaela. "You two just had to jinx it, didn't you?" he muttered, receiving a smack in the chest in return.

"Mirage, what's happening up there?"Optimus demanded quickly.

There was a moment's pause over the channel, during which a series of several more explosions rang out. The screeching of rapid Cybertronian shouting now pierced the air as the crew of the _Uller_ scrambled to figure out what was going on. Finally, Mirage's voice came over the channel amid the shrill screams of warning alarms.

"…_Optimus, sir, it seems the _Darksyde_ has chosen to attack." _


	5. Easier Said than Done

_Nightshade- _A character developed by **Violetlight** and belongs exclusively to her. She is a Decepticon femme apprenticing to Soundwave. Intelligent and deadly, her home-fic is _Vapour Trails_, which really is an excellent read! Just so everyone knows, I did seek permission to use Nightshade as a character; if anyone else wishes to use her in their stories, please, do go to **Violet** to ask for permission.

_Dashiell "Flint", Jaye, and Marissa Fairborn- _Alright, I'm stretching the bounds of believability here… Marissa Fairborn, as many of you might know, is from G1; she was a Captain in the EDC. In this, she's simply a pilot serving on the Brunswick Naval Air Station in Maine. Her parents, as confirmed in the TF:TM DVD, are Lady Jaye and Flint from GI Joe.

_Chip Chase and Josie Beller_- Chip is also a character I've taken from the G1 cartoon, though I've sort of thrown him up North on to Canadian Forces Base Gander in Newfoundland. Josie Beller is from the G1 comics, though you might know her better as "Circuit Breaker."

As usual, I want to send out my sincerest thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. You have no idea how much your reviews mean to me! You are all too wonderful for words! So, my greatest thanks goes out to **Daebereth, Elita One, Bunnylass, Jason M. Lee, Silveriss, Cassiopeia1979, Bluebird Soaring, Violetlight**, and **theshadowcat**!

**As We Come Together  
In Which Things are Easier Said than Done**

"Report, Hound! What's our damage!" Mirage demanded, spinning to face the rapidly working scout as his fingers flew over the tactical controls.

"They hit us hard with a spread of plasma torpedoes! Our shields are at eighty percent and dropping!"

"That's no good! Can you not boost our shields?"

"No. Our power cells are already working at maximum output already. If I try to get anything more out them, they'd blow," Hound exclaimed. "Be happy we're fairing _this_ well! At least our hull isn't breached yet!"

"Hound, I swear to Primus, don't you dare jinx us!" Smokescreen yelled.

Mirage glowered darkly, cursing the fact that he had allowed the _Darksyde_ to sneak up on them from the shadow of Earth's moon. What the pit had he been thinking in being so confident? "Smokescreen, evasive actions! Move us as far away from Earth as you can; we mustn't let a firefight commence while we're so close. Try to move us over an area of thick cloud cover so that the inhabitants of the planet are less likely to spot us."

The tactician acknowledged the order with a quick nod, swinging the _Uller_ into a near vertical climb. The Decepticon ship followed on their aft, never ceasing their barrage. Another torpedo landed on their underside, detonating with enough force to concave the plating down there and send the ship corralling though space.

"Hound, I know what you said about the power cells, but override all that. Boost shields to maximum! We need the better defence against the _Darksyde_!" Mirage demanded.

"But-!"

"I don't care if you blow out all life support systems to make it happen, just do it!" Mirage ordered. He dashed to the empty console next to the scout, activating the _Uller_'s weapons array. "I'll try to get them off our afts!"

"Good luck with that!" Smokescreen snapped.

* * *

"Soundwave, don't lose them! Keep on their afts even if it burns out our engines!" Virus barked.

"At the rate we're going, we'll burn them out no problem," Nightshade hissed, her fingers flying over tactical. The _Darksyde_ was an old ship with one landing strut in the scrap heap; it boggled the processor to even think the damn thing made it this far. "Soundwave, sir, I can increase power to the engines by only a fraction. I can't give you much more."

"A fraction will be adequate." A fierce rumble vibrated through the bridge as Soundwave pressed the engines to their maximum; he may have been a fine Communications Officer, but he was a kick aft pilot too.

"Try to keep us steady!" Flamewar hissed. "Our targeting array is worth slag! If you want me to take out the _Uller_ then you're going to have to fly in a straight line for longer than an astrosecond!"

"I will do my best, but our low orbital position makes it difficult to compensate for the gravimetric pull," Soundwave replied darkly.

"Frag!" Flamewar snarled, slamming into her consol. A second barrage of wide-spread plasma torpedoes vomited forth from the frontal weapons bay. The view screen was a blaze of glorious destructive explosions, their quarry tossing through the maelstrom like a helpless drift of scrap.

"We got them," Nightshade announced. "Their shields are down and we took out their portside stabilizers. Their thrusters have taken severe damage as well."

"Don't let up," Virus ordered. "We've had them in tighter spots before and they've always managed to get away."

"Pure luck," Nightshade snorted.

"Be that as it may, this time they're not going to make it to the surface unless it's in pieces."

Flamewar shot the _Darksyde_'s captain a piercing look. "Why are you so pit-driven on destroying them this time? We've had them on our afts for vorns and we've engaged them more times than I care to count- what is so different about this time around that you absolutely need to have them in pieces instead of leaving them to drift like we usually do?" The femme wasn't expecting a mass of black armor to come barrelling at her, fangs snapping in her faceplate.

"Megatron is on that planet!" Virus roared. "We don't need anymore Autobots fouling up the place while we search for him down there!"

Unafraid to be staring down the black maw of the bestial bot, Flamewar shot up from her seat and shoved the beast away. "We're wasting our time engaging in this fight! We could already be down there searching!"

Nightshade paused, glancing up with narrowed optics. "We should have attacked the _Uller_ when they first came up on sensors," she stated. Flamewar hissed.

Virus rounded on the officer. _"_What did you say?"

Nightshade lifted her faceplate, looking a little impetuous. "The _Uller_ came through the wormhole just after we did," she reported curtly. "We _should_ have attacked then."

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Virus demanded venomously. "They've been on our afts for two orns now and nobody's bothered to tell me? What the frag is wrong with all of you?"

Nightshade's optics flickered once to the fuming Flamewar, who glowered dangerously at Virus's shoulder.

"Ah, I see…" Taking the hint, Virus swung her head to the side with enough force to knock Flamewar back into her console. Soundwave made a move to intervene but Nightshade caught his optic, shaking her head discretely to keep her mentor in his seat. Two orns of being under Flamewar's forced silence deserved a little payback.

"What the frag, Virus?" Flamewar shrieked. The quadruped roared, barrelling down on the femme that was only one-third her mass.

"What did you do? Encrypt all the sensor readouts to mask the _Uller_'s presence? Silence the others so I wouldn't know? Why the pit would you do something _so_ uselessly stupid, you half-bit fragging femme?"

Flamewar heaved herself up, the needles of her armor bristling. "Frag you!"

"Answer me, bitch!"

The femme spat venomously. "I did it because I knew you'd attack the _Uller_ if you knew they were there- _all in the name of your precious Megatron! _Don't you get it? I'm done; finished! I don't want to be doing this anymore! I only stayed on this ship because I owed you a debt and it as the only place that would take me- my debt's long been paid and I have someone on the planet who will take me! You're doing nothing but wasting my time playing cybercat and glitchmouse games up here when I can be down there right now looking for Barricade!"

A moment of fury passed over the beast's face, an astrosecond where it looked like she was going to simply grab hold of Flamewar and shake her until she came apart. It passed though, replaced with a dark, cold nature settling upon Virus's faceplate.

"You want this over and done with? Fine. We'll finish this right now."

"What are you gong to do?" The femme hissed, readying for a fight with the beast.

"Nothing to you. To the _Uller_-," her gaze snapped to Trojan and Worm, who stood silently by the bridge's doors. "You two, go. See if you can't slow them down by infecting them." They bowed solemnly and left. Virus's gaze returned once more to Flamewar. "And _you_- you're going to stay put and do nothing; you can rot here for all I care while the rest of us are out searching for Lord Megatron and the rest."

"You can't do that!" Flamewar howled.

"Captain's privileges," Virus snarled. "Now either get the frag out of my sight, or mute it and let the rest of this ship do its job."

"You pile of slag-."

This time, Virus's fangs flashed so close to Flamewar's faceplate that the air rippled just a breath away from her olfactory sensors casing. "I said mute it, femme! We may be old _"friends,"_ but that won't stop me from throwing you into the engine reactors if you get in my way."

With a fiery storm brewing in her optics, Flamewar submitted, but not before muttering a few choice curses. There was no way in the pit that Virus was going to keep her on this slag-pile of a ship while Barricade was down on Earth.

"Virus, the _Uller_ is attempting to fight back," Soundwave announced just as the ship lurched from several plasma discharges.

"They've taken heavy damage," Nightshade reported. "They'll only be able to last a few more breems like this before they blow something. If we keep on them like this until Trojan and Worm hit them, they'll be easy targets for us to pick off."

"Unless some of their "pure luck" decides to intervene," Soundwave pointed out.

"They'll be long dead before anything intervenes," Nightshade replied confidently.

* * *

"Oh shit, shit, shit, this isn't good," Sam muttered as he paced along the desert ground. "This isn't good at all."

"Stop pacing, Sam, you're making me nervous," Mikaela said, reaching out to her boyfriend to tug him back to the ground next to her.

"You _should_ be nervous," the boy exclaimed, although he let himself be guided down by his girlfriend's gentle hand. "How can you be so calm right now?"

"I have to be the calm one if you're going to get all panicky," she replied, rubbing Sam's back in attempts to sooth him. She was just as tense as he was but doing a better job of hiding it.

The poor boy groaned, his entire body vibrating tensely. "What if someone sees them up there, like an astronomer or some guy in his backyard with a video camera? It'll be plastered all over the news! We'll have freaking news crews swarming over every inch of this place! No one will have any peace any more, least of all the Autobots!" His hands came up to smother his face. "Worse- what if the _Uller_ crashes somewhere? Or- or- oh God, Mikaela, what if one of them _dies_?"

A firm hand clapped down on the panicking boy's shoulder. "There's nothing we can do about that right now, kid," Will said. "The best thing we can be doing is keeping our heads level and not let panic get the best of us. Mirage and the others know what they're doing; we have to trust that they can make it down here in one piece."

Sam was hardly soothed, his eyes dark and expansive in the night, reflecting flickers of light that shone from the Autobots headlights.

"Will is right, Sam," Optimus assured, crouching down to be on a closer level to the small group of humans. His expressive faceplate looked drawn, worried, even though he was trying to assure Sam not to fret. "There is nothing we can do at this point. Whatever happens, happens, and when it does we will have to deal with it."

"Yeah, if I don't have a heart attack first," Sam sighed.

"I am keeping close track of all your vitals, Sam. If there is any sign of a "heart attack," I will know," Ratchet informed. "You need not worry."

The boy opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and remained silent. Disturbed as he might be that an alien medic was keeping tabs on his bodily functions, he was sure it was meant as a way to reassure him- in a stalker-ish, alien sort of way. Slumping into Mikaela's lap, Sam allowed himself to be soothed by his girlfriend's gentle touches.

"I really hope Mirage and Hound and Smokescreen are doing okay…" he sighed.

Epps scrubbed his face with a hand, squinting up through the glare of headlight above to peer up at Ironhide. "Hey, 'Hide, what are the _Uller_'s chances against the 'Con ship?"

The weapons specialist rumbled darkly, contemplating the question. "…not good." He finally replied. "If the _Uller_ hasn't been seriously augmented since the last time I have seen it, then it is just a tracking ship- fast, but with minimal weapons and a thin hull. I have no doubt that Mirage and crew can handle themselves in a firefight against the 'Cons, they have most likely been evading them for vorns, but being so close to Earth will work against them."

"_Damn." _

"And there's absolutely nothing we can do for them?" Mikaela asked. "You can't even access the _Ark_ and use it to help them?"

Optimus shook his head sadly. "I am afraid that would do us little good. The _Ark_ is in orbit around Mars, which would take far too long to bring here. Even if it _were _closer, taking it into battle without an onboard pilot to steer the ship and see where the enemy was would work against us."

"I suppose," she sighed, looking thoroughly disappointed.

Bumblebee flopped down in the dirt next to the blanket spread out for the four humans. He tipped his head in their direction and offered a compensating look. "I was under Mirage's command for a very long time before I was put on the Allspark mission," he said lightly. "I have served with him and Hound in the Intelligence and Espionage Division for nearly all my life. If anyone is to know how to slip out from under Decepticon fire, it will be them."

Sam peeked up from the comforts of Mikaela's sheltering lap. "You really think so, Bee?"

"I _know_ so, Sam," replied the scout, reaching out to run a finger lightly over his friend's back in the same fashion that Mikaela had been doing. He misjudged his strength and sent the boy face first back into his girlfriend's lap, now with a distinctly sorer spine.

"Way to comfort him, Bumblebee," Epps laughed. "Take his mind off the space battle by breaking his back."

"I did not mean to!" the yellow bot exclaimed, trilling and fussing over the downed boy. "Oh, Sam, are you alright? I was not checking my strength! My thoughts were elsewhere! I am sorry!"

Sam heaved a pained cough, peeling his face out from between Mikaela's legs. He sat back, shaking his head to clear it. "It's cool, Bee," he grunted, twisting until several vertebrae cracked back into place. "There are worse places I could have face-planted."

"No matter the case, I should have been more careful!"

Mikaela brushed absently at her now-empty lap, the night hiding her slight blush. "Yeah, it's fine. No one's hurt."

"'Cept Sam's pride," Epps needled.

Will laughed. "What pride?"

The glare Sam shot them wouldn't have scared a kitten. "Har, har, guys, you're hilarious. Glad you can all make jokes when there are Autobots up there fighting for their lives."

"You heard Optimus, Sam. There's nothing we can do but hope for the best," Will reminded. "Might as well not turn grey while doing it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Nothing we can do," the boy sighed. "But it's just, well… I _really_ hope planet falls in the future aren't going to be _this_ exciting."

A great sigh of air whistled from Optimus's vents above them. "As do I."

* * *

"No! Not now! Not now!" Smokescreen cried as the _Uller_'s engines gave their last dying breath.

"Don't tell me that is what I think it is!" Mirage barked.

Smokescreen was plastered to the helm, fingers a blur over the controls as he tried to get back their engines. "That depends! What do you think it is?"

"I think it was the _Uller_'s way of giving us one great big "frag you" for not upgrading the engines when we should have at that space station," Hound snapped smartly. "But _somebody_ had to gamble all our credits away so we couldn't!"

A desperate whine trilled from Smokescreen. _"I said I was sorry!"_

Mirage hissed, fists slamming into his console. "We're open targets like this! We're full of holes, flying blind with no stabilizers and hardly any thrusters! We might as well just hail the _Darksyde_ and tell them to come pick us up!"

"Not again with the defeatist attitudes!" Hound exclaimed. "If we gave up every time we were in a jam with the _Darksyde_, we wouldn't be here! Smokescreen, just keep trying to reinitialize the engines; Mirage, keep shooting until we have nothing left to fire at them-." A blip from tactical had Hound shooting up from his seat. "And while you two are doing that, I'll be outside dislodging Trojan and Worm from our hull!"

"You can't engage them on your own!" Mirage objected, moving to rise from his station.

"Sit down, Mirage! You and I both know we need you in here on weapons to keep the _Darksyde_ at bay- you're the best shot out of us all! And Smokescreen needs to be on helm to get us away. I'm the only one that can be spared-!"

"Yes, _spared_, not _sacrificed_! Do not go out there out there on your own!"

"Don't worry. All I'm going to do is shoo them away from the ship. As soon as I get them far enough away, take the _Uller_ down. I'll make planet fall on own."

Before Mirage could object again, Hound slipped out of the bridge, seeking the side hatch. Once ejected from the ship, he swung around to topside where a single black wart had lodged itself in the plating.

"_Alright, Worm, you know the deal, just back away from the ship and I won't shoot,"_ Hound transmitted, always the pacifist first. It didn't matter that this method never worked on any of the _Darksyde_ crew, he still kept up the hope that someday he could win a battle without firing a single weapon. "_Call Trojan off from wherever he is and we won't have to fight about this." _

Worm didn't deign the scout important enough to glance at. His only task was to access the ship's computer and infect it.

"_Come on, big guy, you know you don't want to make this harder than it has to be,"_ Hound urged, creeping forward. Still, Worm remained unmoved. Proximity alarms suddenly blared to life as another Decepticon signature appeared from behind, coming up rapidly. Hound spun to meet the attack, the large blade he kept retracted in his right forearm shooting out to embed itself in Trojan's abdominal plating. The 'Con grunted but continued to press his attack, his fist flying up to crack Hound across the faceplate.

"_Dammit, nobody ever wants to do this the easy way,"_ the scout groaned, shaking his head in order to make the world stop spinning. Trojan and Worm had at least twice the mass he did, which made for very painful punches when they hit.

Trojan extricated the blade from his abdomen, twisting the arm it was held in and tossing Hound in a high arc overhead.

Despite the screaming pain in his arm, the scout broke out of the momentum of the throw, diving back for more. From his shoulder mount, he let loose several rounds of photon shots, one scrapping Trojan's shoulder while two struck Worm's back, and the rest landed on his own ship.

Internal comms crackled to life, Smokescreen's voice coming through loud and clear. _"Who's side are you on?" _

"_Sorry! Sorry! They were missed shots. I'll aim away from the ship from now on!" _

"_You better! I'm rerouting power from structural integrity to the engines to get us moving again- if the hull takes another shot, we're fragged." _

"_Understood!" _

Trojan charged like a madmech, arms outstretched in order to wring the green scout to death. Processing the attack's trajectory and momentum, Hound tensed, hesitating until the very last calculated second, before lashing out and grabbing hold of those large, outstretched arms. In one fluid move, he flipped backwards, bringing Trojan over him and thrusting his feet into the mech's already perforated middle. Sparks flew as the 'Con was thrown up and over Hound's head, a brighter burst following the first as several photon shots struck home.

Seeing that the mech was immobilized for the moment, Hound dived for Worm, ramming him in the back so hard that sparks flew as their armor mashed. Thankfully, the 'Con was taken by surprise enough to be dislodged from the hull, though he regained his senses quick, twisting to land an uppercut on Hound's chassis, denting the armor.

Ignoring the searing pain that shot through his chest cavity, Hound used his shoulder mount to launch several close range photon blasts straight into the black-armored mech's faceplate. There was a scream of metal tearing, and then Worm's battle mask tore away, taking with it several strips of plating from his own head. Giving no room for the mech to recover, Hound braced himself against his opponent and began to push, personal thrusters for space travel burning white-hot with the effort it was taking. He had to get the both of them as far away from the _Uller _as he could.

A streak of plasma flew overhead, a present from the _Darksyde_. A torpedo whizzed by, followed by a few more streaks of raw plasma.

Mirage obviously was going to have none of that as several rounds exploded from the mouth of the weapons bay. They all landed with deadly accuracy.

_"I've got you covered," _Mirage transmitted, just as several more blasts streaked through space. _"Just get Trojan and Worm away from us." _

"_I'm working on it!" _

"_Work a little faster! Smokescreen's almost got the engines going." _

"_Right. No pressure!" _

An angry growl reverberated through Worm as he came back to his senses. His chest rearranged itself, the barrel of a cannon suddenly rising from the mass of shifting metal.

"_Frag!" _Missing death by an astrosecond, the scout managed to heave away. A black streak of seared paint appeared along his side, a testament of how close he'd come to joining the scrap heap. Unfortunately, he'd thrown himself straight into the arms of the oncoming Trojan. Sparks erupted before his optics as a large fist flew into his faceplate.

The world was sent into a lurching nosedive as Hound dived from the force of the punch. His descent was halted, though, as a large hand grabbed him by the foot and hauled him back up, a foot swinging out to cave in the armor of his right side. An energon line snapped, excess fluid leaking out through cracks in his armor.

Before either Trojan or Worm could land another attack, Hound thrust his hand into the open wound oozing from Trojan's middle, grabbing as much wiring as he could and yanking. The electronic shriek above him could have peeled paint. The mech was sent into convulsions, making it easy to target him and land several blasts of photons, using the using the momentum of the explosions to propel the 'Con away.

Unfortunately, the mass of black metal began to slowly drop into Earth's atmosphere, caught by the planet's gravity.

"_Oh no you don't!" _Hound howled, racing to drag the mech out of the gravitational pull.

Something slammed into him from behind, burly arms wrapping around him, crushing him. Hound writhed desperately in attempts to free himself.

"_Slag it, Worm! That's your shipmate that's going down!" _

A flash of realization lit up Worm's blank faceplate. Reacting quickly, a aperture on his arm opened up, releasing several thick, black cords.

"_No! Let me go! You don't have to do this, Worm!" _But it was too late, the viral injectors had already pierced his armor, contacting with vital circuit boards. Hound was infected.

Tossed away like a piece of trash, all Hound could do was watch as Worm dived from his partner. It was too late, though. Trojan was already too ensnared in Earth's pull to be rescued, all Worm could do was go down with him.

Close by, the hum of the Uller's engines reinitializing reach Hound's audio sensors. _Thank Primus! _

And then internal sensors flashed an alarm, letting the scout know that he too was caught in the gravitational pull, slowly drifting into a wide-angle dive. Too late to escape, Hound conceded his fate, reverting to his protoform and folding into the small, meteor-shaped form that would allow him to survive entrance through Earth's atmosphere.

He only hoped he would land somewhere where the Autobots could find him.

* * *

In complete contrast to the battle being waged above the Earth, Gander Lake, Newfoundland was as peaceful as it had ever been. The night was quite and tepid, broken only by slurred laughter as a celebratory party dragged on into the wee hours of the morning. There was no better way to celebrate the engagement of Chip Chase to Josie Beller than to hike it out to their cottage on the lake and drink themselves stupid.

"-So I says to her, I says "You'll do a fine enough job scaring him off on your own!'"

Bursts of laughter welled up around the simmering fire as the gathered adults indulged in their inebriated mirth. Beer bottles chinked together, remains of the brew sloshed back. By the sounds of things, everyone was already sufficiently buzzed.

Chase leaned into the firelight, reaching for the last bottle of cold Molson Canadian beer. "'Course, once school starts, the kid'll be long gone, you'll see. He's like a phase."

From across the campfire, Jaye Fairborne cocked her head. "How do you figure that?"

"You know how it is with teenagers," Chase shrugged dismissively. "They're way too concerned about what their friends think of them, and the lot of them are shit-stupid. Mikaela just happens to be friends with a pack of bitchy whores- you think they'll let someone like Sam date one of their own? Yeah,right. Sam'll be gone by the end of September."

From next to Jaye, her husband Dashiell "Flint" Fairborne saluted to the woman. "You're too cruel, Chase."

"I'm not cruel, Fairborne, I'm _drunk_- and a realist," Chase huffed grouchily. "Let's face it, teenage relationships don't last."

Flint inclined his head. "True."

Chase sniffed, continuing knowingly. "Mickey and the pansy are from completely different rungs on the social ladder. I like the kid and all, he's been good to Mickey for the summer, but he won't last. I just don't see it happening."

"I don't know about that, Chase, times are changing," Chip pointed out lightly. "Chicks are starting to dig the whole nerd thing."

"Hah! Just because _you_ beat the odds and are marrying a hot chick doesn't mean Sam is," Chase shot back. She cocked a wry smile at Josie, raising her beer bottle. "God only knows what you see in him."

"A worthy adversary," Josie replied, grinning. Both she and Chip worked at CFB Gander as computer programmers. They were a match made in nerd-heaven, their shared interests spanning across many fandoms. It was only when Josie's love of Star Trek clashed with Chip's god-worship of Star Wars that they threatened to unravel the fabric of reality with their fighting.

"That he is," Chase ceded ruefully, toasting Chip kindly.

Josie pursed her lips, watching as Chase sloshed back her drink. "It's a shame that you weren't able to bring Mikaela up with you, it would have been fun to see her again. Marissa, too," she added, with regards to the Fairborne's only daughter.

"Mickey's off camping with her boyfriend and probably a gang-bang of other people." Chase informed. "Hell if I was going to drag her away from that."

"You just let her go off like that, no questions asked?" Jaye asked incredulously, a mother's concern clearly written in her voice.

"She's a big girl, Jaye, she can take care of herself," Chase shrugged. "She doesn't need me hovering over her shoulder. How about Marissa, where's she?"

"Still down in Maine at the Naval Air Station," Jaye sighed. "She couldn't get leave."

"But you two could get leave?" Chip questioned.

Jaye and Flint exchanged a glance. "We have our ways," Flint replied.

"Even with just the five of us, this was still one hell of a party," Chase laughed, holding up her bottle to toast against the others'. "Fuck what everyone says, we can still party hardy when we want to."

Just as everyone was about to tip back their last drink for the night, a bright flash in the sky caught Chip's attention. He glanced up, mouth dropping open as three bright streaks of light cut across the sky. One was low and dropping ever closer to where the five adults were gathered, the other two still whizzing through the air at shallow angles.

"Oh my God…"

The roar of the blazing meteor drown out all other noise in the vicinity, even as Josie gave a scream and Chase leaped up from her seat, swearing a blue streak. Passing over top of the small cottage perched not far from the beach atop a grassy knoll, the meteor touched down with a resounding explosion.

Suddenly, the five adults found they were much more sober than they were five seconds before. Shock had a strange way of doing that to people.

Chip was the first to regain his wits, manoeuvring his wheelchair as quickly as he could over the uneven rocks to get to the crash site.

"Chip! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Josie shrieked.

"To check things out!" he yelled back. "It's not every day a meteor lands in your backyard!"

Flint exchanged a look with his wife, and then with Chase, who nodded. "Wait up, Chip! We're coming with you!" Flint called, jogging over with the rest of the party in toe.

The field behind the cottage was a blaze of burning grass and hunks of churned soil. At the far end was a gouge in the dirt deep enough to bury a car in. Upon creeping up on the crater, the curious group were a little disappointed to find it empty.

"Meteor must have exploded on impact," Chip sighed.

"Once the media catches wind of this, it's going to be all over the news," Josie said, unable to peel her eyes away from the smoking crater. She started to comb at her hair with her fingers, trying to make herself presentable for television.

"Well damn, I don't feel like being on TV," Chase snorted, beginning to circle around the crash site. There were several shallow impact marks leading away from the crater, small fragments of the meteor making it look like a trail of giant's footprints. She stared at them curiously, canting her head at their strange pattern.

"Marissa and Mikaela are going to be pissed that they missed this," Flint commented as he crouched near the ledge of the burning hot crater. "Too bad there's no meteor rocks to bring home to them."

"Sucks to be them," Chase shrugged, and then yawned widely. "It's been awesome seeing you all again, but I think I'm going to call it a night. It was a long drive up here and all I want to do is conk out. Congrats on the engagement Chip, Josie, but now I'm just going to go home and sleep this off. Hope you look good on the news." She waved to them and began to amble off toward the gravel road that would lead her to her own cottage.

"Night, Chase," Josie called after her.

The Banes cottage where Chase stayed when she was up visiting was an old, comfortable thing that had belonged to her mother before she passed away. It was a place where Chase could be alone with herself, depending on whether or not she brought Mikaela up with her, secluded from the nearby town, and far enough away from the other cottages that she didn't have to have human contact if she didn't want it. Off to the side, nearest the woods, was a cleared space that served as a make-shift tinkering yard where both Mikaela and Chase could enjoy the rigours of getting their hands dirty on car engines and the like.

On this night, in particular, the only thing parked in the littered space was Chase's Jeep Gladiator, glinting dully in the dim starlight.

Just as the woman was unlocking the door was wandering into the dark house, the rustling of trees and an uneven pattern of crunching grass and fallen twigs caught her attention. Something was coming through the woods. Curious, but wary, she drew behind the screen door to watch from the safety of her house, only to be astounded when the tree line parted and something huge and bipedal came stumbling through.

She smothered a terrified gasp, slumping down to her knees on the floor. _"Holy fuckin' Great Spirit…"_ She was pretty sure she wasn't hallucinating, and to her knowledge, nothing had been slipped into her drink. About to swear something about Big Foot, she stopped the moment the moon glinted off the giant's skin. It was made of metal; a robot of some kind.

The creature stumbled about the yard as if it were in a daze, filling the night with electronic screeching that sent shivers down the watching human's spine. Suddenly, its soft, glowing blue eyes landed on the shadowy form of the Jeep. It began to shuffle toward it.

A rush of liquor-adrenaline surged through the woman. _No one_ messed with her Jeep! Not even some giant robot thing from God only knew where. Bolting out the front door, Chase flew across the shadowy yard toward the intruder.

"Hey! Hey, get away from that you giant tin can!" she screamed. "Don't you dare touch it!"

The being may have glanced her way once, but its attention was solely fixed on the black Jeep. Chase was sent into a skidding halt as a light-blue beam of light passed from the robot over her vehicle. Seconds later, right before her eyes, the robot's body began to shift, metal skin morphing and shifting, headlights and wheels forming amongst sheets of shining black plating. Finally, as the sequence ended, the blackness of the armour began to change, shifting from pitch-black to forest-green.

With all its energy spent, the poor creature wavered on its feet, staggering a few steps to the side before pitching forward, landing squarely on top of Chase's Jeep.

Frozen in place, unblinking, hardly breathing, all Chase could do was stare in sheer disbelief and manage to utter a breathy curse.

"_Holy Fuck." _


	6. Uller Lands

_BFGs- _This is a ridiculous double entendre towards the acronym "BFG" which can either mean Big Fucking Gun, or… Big Friendly Giant. You decide what Epps meant. xD

_Nightshade- _A character developed by **Violetlight** and belongs exclusively to her. She is a Decepticon femme apprenticing to Soundwave. Intelligent and deadly, her home-fic is _Vapour Trails_, which really is an excellent read! Just so everyone knows, I did seek permission to use Nightshade as a character; if anyone else wishes to use her in their stories, please, do go to **Violet** to ask for permission.

My sincerest of all thank you's go out to my wonderful reviewers; **Misao-CG, Elita One, Dragon260, Daebereth, Jason M. Lee, Bunnylass, theshadowcat**, and **Bluebird Soaring. **Even as the reviewers die away from the immense popularity I had for the first few chapters, it is the reviewers that I do have that make my heart sing. Thank you all so much!

Special thanks go out to **Lady Tecuma**, **Litahatchee**, and **Violetlight** for all the wonderful encouragement and patience they have given me. I am indebted to you three, truly.

**As We Come Together**

**In Which the **_**Uller **_**Lands (sort of…)**

Even through the murk of cloud cover, dawn's light was slowly beginning to leak into the gloom of the desert night, casting dull luminescence across the dry landscape. Tension laid thick in the air as Sam's anxiousness finally infected the others, causing Mikaela's fingers to tap incessantly, Will to pace worriedly, and the Autobots to watch the skies with a more desperate glint in their optics.

Bumblebee twittered nervously, opening an inter-Autobot channel to the others. _**"You don't think something might have happened to them, do you?" **_he asked nervously.

Optimus sighed, glancing towards the scout. _**"It is a possibility," **_he replied gravely. **"**_**The **_**Uller **_**has been out of communication for a while now…" **_

"_**Mirage did say that the **_**Darksyde**_**'s crew was dangerous to be in combat with," **_Ratchet reminded solemnly. _**"That does not bode well for them at all." **_

"_**But they must have engaged the **_**Darksyde**_** before this; they should know how to fight them," **_Bumblebee reasoned, though even his transmitted voice over the frequency was a little anxious.

"_**Fight them, yes, but win..." **_Optimus shook his head slowly, shuttering his optics. _**"I have no doubt that Mirage and his mechs are fully capable of fighting the **_**Darksyde,**_** but as you well know, Bumblebee, the tides of battle are always shifting. We win some battles and we lose others- this one may have been one they've lost." **_

"_**I refuse to accept that!" **_ Bumblebee shot back. _**"They have been the first contact with our own kind that we have had in a long time that we haven't had to fight for our lives against. They can't just have **_**lost**_**- not when they were so close!" **_

"_**Sometimes that is the hard reality of war, Bumblebee," **_Optimus reminded the young scout softly. _**"You know that." **_

The scout made a soft keening noise. _**"I know, but…" **_

Ratchet's optics slid from the murky sky to Ironhide's shadowy frame. _**"You're being unusually silent about this ordeal," **_he said pointedly, raising an optic ridge. _**"Care to say anything?" **_

Ironhide's cannons whirred ominously, the mech's entire frame wrought with tension. _**"All I have to say is the **_**Uller **_**better make it down here in one piece or else those 'Cons are going to have a lot more to deal with than what Mirage and his crew are able to dish out." **_The air crackled around the barrel of his left cannon as plasma charged, glowing hotly.

"_**That's your solution for everything, though I should have seen that coming," **_Ratchet accused lightly, eyeing the weaponry with a certain amount of disdain.

"_**It's worked so far, hasn't it?" **_The mech snorted back.

Another rotation of gears hummed through the air as he absently rolled the barrels of his cannons. All too aware of the towering giants above them, the sudden activation of weaponry damn near scared the humans right out of their skins.

"What is it? The 'Cons coming down?" Epps demanded; he and Will were already up and ready for a fight, despite the fact that they lacked any armoury whatsoever.

Too quick for the draw, Sam hit panic mode in nanoseconds. _"'Cons?!"_ He nearly flung Mikaela off the blanket they were curled on in his haste to scramble to his feet.

It took the Autobots a few moments to figure out what had their human allies jumping to such conclusions. Optimus caught on first, optics locking on to Ironhide's slowly rotating cannon barrel. He sighed tiredly, shaking his head.

"Ironhide, do put those away. You are scaring the humans," Optimus warned in English, his voice modulated to sound as weary as he felt.

"What are you talking about, Prime? False alarm?" Will asked.

"Something of the sort," the flame-painted mech replied, a great whoosh of warm air rushing from his vents in a sigh. "I believe you caught Ironhide performing a ritual you humans call a "nervous habit.""

Will quirked his eyebrow sharply at the towering semi, then turned his gaze to the Topkick. "That's one hell of a nervous habit," he commented, gaze dropping to the cannons. An accidental discharge from either one could easily incinerate any human present in the blink of an eye.

"No need to worry," Ratchet assured them. "We are not under attack, and Ironhide is in perfect control of his cannons, _most of the time_."

"_Most of the time?"_ Sam squeaked nervously, voice cracking as if he were going through a second puberty.

"There is absolutely no need to worry, Sam," Bumblebee said, smiling down to his friend. "I will protect you if Ironhide suddenly decides to lose control."

As Ironhide huffed grouchily, Sam offered his guardian a shaky smile. "I don't doubt it, Bee."

Epps nudged Will lightly, leaning in to whisper, "My money's on the big guy if that fight ever came about." Will grunted, glancing between Bumblebee and the notably larger Ironhide. He quickly decided not to bet against his friend.

Overhearing the whispered bet with overly sensitive audio receptors, Bumblebee gave off a noise to the two men that closely resembled that of the human raspberry. "I will have you know I am perfectly capable of taking on the likes of Ironhide!"

A rough bark of laughter rumbled from Ironhide. "Perhaps if I were in recharge," he scoffed.

"I have sparred with you since I was a youngling!" Bumblebee said, letting a little impetuousness leak into his voice. "I think I would know a thing or two about taking you on!"

The weapons specialist cocked his head, a small smirk of amusement twitching at his faceplate. "And in all that time, have you ever beaten me, young one?"

Bumblebee puffed up, looking offended. Ironhide carried on with his half-smirk, watching as the scout searched through his memory banks, and then visibly deflated when he failed to find what he was looking for.

"So, have you ever beaten me?"

"…no." Bumblebee admitted grudgingly. As far as his memory banks went, Ironhide had always won their matches, even when Bee was a youngling. He didn't believe in going easy.

Ironhide huffed another laugh, patting the scout on the head. "Keeping working at it," he said in consolation. Once more, his cannons whirred, glowing plasma crackling. Sam gave into a small spasm, as he was prone to nowadays ever since he was forced into the middle of a battlefield with weapons easily twice the size of him firing overhead.

"Can you _please_ put those away," Mikaela asked curtly, doing her best to sooth Sam.

"Not my fault your species is so jumpy," he grumbled darkly.

"Yeah, we get like that in the presence of BFGs," Epps replied pointedly.

"BFGs?" Ratchet enquired curiously.

"Big-." Whatever Epps was going to say was suddenly drown out as the sky above shook with a tremendous roar, clouds set aflame.

"What the hell is that?! An attack?" Will demanded, eyes to the thick, blazing clouds above.

"I detect no weapons fire," Ironhide growled warily.

From the sheer heat of the incoming object, the clouds began to evaporate, scattering into thin wisps. High above, and falling ever closer, was a screaming, red-hot _thing_. A ship maybe, but one that was unlike anything the humans had ever seen before. Even from a distance, it was _huge_. The size of a yacht- no, maybe _two_ yachts. As it fell closer, powerful landing-thrusters descended from the belly of the craft, spewing white-hot plasma into the air to slow the fall. A painful groan of churning metal wrought the air as the ship slowly rolled to the side, starboard dipping lower than the rest, exposing a section of cooling hull where alien writing could just be made out if someone focused their optics at maximum.

Seeing as the Autobots didn't look too concerned about the spacecraft barrelling in towards the Earth, the humans did their best to remain calm as well.

Mikaela laid a hand on Optimus' cool, metal foot. "What is it?" she asked breathlessly.

Optimus glanced down to the awaiting humans who were now up and gathered at the feet of their alien company. He smiled down to them with a reassuring expression, seeing as Sam looked to be three seconds away from a seizure.

"That, my friends, is the _Uller_."

"_That's_ the _Uller_?!" Epps exclaimed, bugging out at the monstrosity that was emerging through the clouds.

"It's huge!" Sam crowed.

Bumblebee glanced down with an amused expression. "Well, we _are _quite a bit larger than you are," he chirped.

Ratchet growled darkly as he caught sight of a number of breaches running along the hull. His spark skipping a pulse, the medic scanned the ship, wondering how in the pit the damn ship had even made it through the atmosphere, and then roared with outrage when he got the readouts back. _"Those idiots!" _

"What is it, Ratchet?" Optimus enquired.

"Move! We have to clear the area!" Ratchet ordered, already transforming into his alt mode. The _Uller_ was flying blind! No weapons, no sensors, no _life support_! Everything had been routed to thrusters and structural integrity!

"What the pit are you going on about?" Ironhide barked.

"They are flying blind!" the medic roared, engine gunning. "They don't even know we right below them!"

Alarm spread over the other Autobots' faceplates and they instantly sprung into action, folding into their alt modes at record speeds. Bumblebee's doors flung open.

"Sam, Mikaela, hurry! Get in!" he commanded, just as Will and Epps threw themselves into Ironhide's bed. The scream of tires against dirt and the whine of gunned engines died in the dawn as the _Uller_'s roar grew ear-piercingly loud, rumbling the air itself. Plastered against Bumblebee's seats as the scout desperately sped away from the impending crash site, his human passengers could only the stare at the rear view mirror in horror.

"_Brace for impact!"_ Optimus shouted.

Despite the deployed landing thrusters working furiously to level the ship, the nose still went first into the dirt, sending a rippling shockwave through the ground. Bumblebee, being the lightest of the four speeding vehicles, actually left the ground for a few short, breathless seconds. The scream of collapsing metal on the _Uller_ wrought the air in two, temporarily rendering everyone with a five mile radius deaf.

Hanging over Ironhide's tailgate, awe-struck and horrified, Will and Epps were glued to the destruction. Chunks of earth easily the size of Optimus' alt mode flung into the air and the sky darkened with sprays of dirt and dust raised from the desert floor. The _Uller _just kept digging itself deeper into the Earth. It was like there was no stopping it as it screamed into the dirt, nose collapsing, plating crumbling, fireworks of sparks exploding in the air; never had they seen anything like it.

Ironhide's back window suddenly slid open and the mech's rumbling voice issued from his speakers within. "Get in my cab, you two!" he roared over the booming explosion-like grinding that was emanating from behind them.

The two men eyed the slim window warily.

"_Are you serious? You expect us to fit through that thing?"_ Will asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do, unless you would rather suffer through third-degree burns and suffocation from the dust cloud that is gaining on us," Ironhide growled. When the mech put things that way, what would the two humans rather take their chances with; a window two sizes too small for either of them or a possibly fatal dust cloud?

Epps looked to his slimmer captain. "You first, man."

"Too Late!" Ratchet howled. "Everyone, buckle down!"

Ironhide screeched to a stop, swinging his entire frame around so that he was facing the oncoming cloud of thick, searing dirt and dust, offering Will and Epps relative cover. The humans did their best to hunker down in the bed of the massive truck, covering their heads and faces in preparation for what was about to hit. Around them, metal tensed, vibrating in anticipation.

When the aftershock of dust hit, it was like a brick was ramming into them. Bumblebee was thrown back on to two wheels, swaying precariously. In a display of masculinity that nearly short-circuited Sam's own brain, he turned himself over and covered Mikaela as she curled beneath the protective shield he was offering. Sure, he wanted just as badly to curl into Mikaela's arms and hope this adventure wasn't going to be his last, but some things were just a little more important then others.

Ratchet and Ironhide were forced back a few feet, their bulk not even able to withstand the driving force of the aftershock. Optimus remained planted firmly in the ground, but the hiss of heat searing away at his paint was audible.

Just as rapidly as it hit, it passed, leaving the air hazy and thick with the smell of heat and burning dirt. A moment of wary silence passed as the small group waited to see if that was the last of it. When the dawn remained calm, the Autobots' alt modes visibly sagged on their wheels, relieved. Bumblebee's doors popped open, allowing Sam and Mikaela to uncurl and spill out of him.

"Are you all right?" the scout asked lightly, transforming back to his bipedal form.

"Yeah- yeah, I'm fine," Sam replied breathlessly. He glanced to Mikaela worriedly. "How about you?"

"Fine," she replied, offering her knight in shining armor a grateful smile and a peck on the cheek.

Optimus and Ratchet unfolded from their alt modes shortly after. However, Ironhide remained firmly planted on his wheels.

"You okay, Ironhide?" Mikaela asked concernedly, clambering over to the unmoving truck.

"I am functional, Mikaela," the Topkick rumbled, despite the scan Ratchet started performing the moment Mikaela has asked if anything was wrong. "It is Will and Epps that I am not so sure about."

A pained grunt came from the bed and a weary head appeared over the edge. "At least you called me Will," he groaned, coughing out a plume of dirt. He and Epps uncurled from their protective positions, noting the lacerations that had gouged into their uncovered arms from stray rocks. The back of Epps' head was also bleeding, as was Will's right ear.

"You two should go back to base immediately and have a human physician look at those wounds," Ratchet suggested, scanning the pair carefully. Being that he had limited experience with organic health care, other than what was available on the internet, he was leery of performing any medical procedure on any human in lieu of an actual human doctor.

"We're fine, Ratch'," Epps assured, jumping over Ironhide's side to allow the big bot to transform. "We've had worse."

Scrutinizing them carefully, Ratchet relented with a reluctant snort. "Fine, if you insist to stay then do so, but try to keep your wounds as free from debris to prevent the risk of infection."

"Yes, sir," the soldiers coursed, saluting Ratchet loosely.

A hollow groan in the distance brought everyone's attention back to the _Uller_ as it settled into its crater. From the deep gouge it dug, the massive ship (by Earth standards) was jutting up from the Earth at a forty-five degree angle. It hardly looked like a ship anymore.

"It's a wreck," Sam said breathlessly.

Optimus bowed his great head. "I am only picking up two life signs aboard."

"Oh god, no," Mikaela whispered disbelievingly. She glanced to Sam who had first made the grim prediction only hours before- the poor boy looked stricken. "Can you tell from this distance who-?"

"No."

An ominous rumble passed through the air, emanating from Ironhide's towering frame. If even one spark had been extinguished, he was going to make good on the vow he made earlier to pay the _Darksyde_ back in kind.

"Come on, the ship's settled now. Let's go help the survivors," Ratchet ordered solemnly, choosing to walk the distance to the crashed ship instead of transforming back into his alt mode. Optimus was on his heels, with Ironhide plucking the two Army Rangers off the ground and flicking them onto his shoulders before following. Bumblebee, at least, was a little more gentle when gathering Sam and Mikaela before starting his own trek for the _Uller_.

As they neared the silent craft, the heat waves emanated from it nearly overpowered the humans present. The desert heat was nothing compared to the scorching inferno of the smouldering earth and the blistered spaceship as it simmered.

A shudder ran through Bumblebee's frame as he passed by a particularly large strip of the ship that had been shorn free in the crash. His friends had been on that ship, two of his fellow Intelligence and Espionage agents, comrades he had scouted with and fought beside. Primus forbid if anything happened to them…

Mikaela laid a hand against the scout's head, trying to sooth him as she had soothed Sam. She didn't dare say 'it's going to be okay,' because, by the looks of things, it most certainly was not, so she simply offered her comfort in silence.

By the time the Autobots had cleared the debris field around the crash site, which was surprisingly difficult even for them, the half-buried hatch on the topside of the destroyed ship had already been shot off from the inside and lay smoking on the ground. Tumbling out from the demolished guts of the craft were two mechs, bright glowing fluid oozing out from cracks in their armor. Trying to pair the colours of the armour to the mechs they belonged too, it was Mirage and Smokescreen falling from the _Uller_. There was no sign of Hound.

Mirage was attempting to push himself into an upright position, one hand steadying himself on the ground, the other outstretched to Optimus. **"O-Optimus-?" **

"**Don't move, you fools! You'll make your injuries worse!" **Ratchet ordered sharply, rushing to the two mechs' sides.

Mirage appeared to not have heard the medic's command, continuing to drag himself along the dirt towards the Supreme Commander. **"I- I tried to stop him. I t-told him it- it was suicide…" **

Ratchet growled darkly, irked that his orders were being ignored. Seeing as Smokescreen was the more critical of the two, he went to that mech first. Without any form of shielding to protect the ship from the super-heated fall through the atmosphere, the poor mechs had literally _baked_ themselves inside. They hadn't even reverted to their protoforms to better protect themselves. Now, their armor was warped from entry, practically melted off of them; internal circuitry was fused; coolant and lubricants had all but vaporized.

Smokescreen keened piteously, pained optics staring up at Ratchet's familiar faceplate in agony. **"I'm hurtin', Ratch'," **he managed to cough out.

Ratchet shook his head, sighing. **"There's nothing I can do for you out here except stem the energon leakages and weld the worst of the damage closed. I'll be better equipped to repair you once we get you back to base." **

Smokescreen shook his head, one hand coming up to fall over his spark. **"No, Ratch', I'm hurtin' here." **

Ratchet said nothing, shuttering his optics. It was reasonable to say that being in such close quarters to such a small crew of mechs for such a long period of time, bonds formed whether a mech wanted them or not. So as to quickly put the mech out of his agony, Ratchet pried open a relatively well-preserved panel on the tactician's arm and administered a sedative through the exposed energon line. Slowly, Smokescreen's keening tapered off until he was completely silent.

However, Mirage was still going, faceplate drawn from agony within and without. **"Prime, I-I'm sorry…" **

Optimus kneeled to the Master Spy, one large hand outstretched to the shaking hand seeking him, letting hot energon ooze over his palm as he offered his soldier what little comfort he could give. **"What happened to Hound?" **

"**Hound t-took Worm and Trojan- alone. He- infected, then fell-." **Static overpowered the spy's vocals for a moment, ragged drags of air being forced through his vents. **"I don't know where…" **

Optimus glanced up to Ratchet quickly, the medic quietly sneaking up behind the injured mech with an injector full of a strong sedative. Seeing as Mirage was beginning to succumb to his injuries, losing coherence, Optimus gently placed his freehand, the one not captured in a death-grip by the spy, on the mech's shaking head. **"We'll find him, Mirage. I promise." **

"**Thank y-." **His optics grew wide as he felt the injector enter him then slowly his gaze unfocused and he was out.

Mikaela pressed herself to the side of Bumblebee's head, not daring to look. "Are they going to be okay?"

"I… do not know," the scout replied quietly. Sam's entire body felt numb in the same way it did after the battle in Mission City. He didn't think he had any words to offer his alien friend, so he remained silent, absently rubbing his hand along the scout's audios.

Ratchet busied himself was stabilizing the two so that they could be moved without injuring them further. His blunt fingers suddenly seemed to unfold into impossibly long, multi-jointed appendages, thin enough to slip under slates of armor and manually activate internal energon clamps, slowing the already considerable loss.

Ironhide rumbled darkly, stepping around Ratchet to get a closer look at the smouldering remains of the _Uller_. Nothing but slag now, and maybe a couple spare parts if they could manage it. One thing was for certain, it would never be flight capable again.

Forgetting his two passengers perched precariously on his broad shoulders, the mech reached up to run a hand along the hull. It was still hot, and a flaking cloud of ash came loose at his touch. A few burning embers drifted Will's way and he swung around Ironhide's head to avoid receiving third degree burns, hanging dangerously from the jutting ridges crowning the mech's head.

Epps reached out to help his captain to the relative safety of Ironhide's other shoulder. The radiating heat from the ship at close proximity was nigh-unbearable, evaporating even the oxygen from the air. The two of them wavered on their perch, dizzy from oxygen deprivation.

"Ironhide, you gotta back up a little," Will wheezed, panting with his hands on his knees. "It's too hot, we can't breathe."

"My apologies," the weapons specialist rumbled as he moved out of the range of the blistering heat, though he seemed somewhat reluctant to leave.

Optimus beckoned the three over. "Ratchet has them stabilized enough to be moved," he said. "You will have to carry Smokescreen. I will take Mirage." Silently, Ironhide nodded and bent to take the broken frame of Smokescreen into his arms. Optimus was careful as he gathered Mirage from the ground. Ratchet hovered close between the two, monitoring their status closely.

Bumblebee reached out to touch his once-commander as he passed, but retracted his hand before it could brush against the energon-smeared blue armor. He trotted at Optimus' side, peering over at Ratchet imploringly.

"Will you be able to repair them?" he asked.

Ratchet gave some semblance of a nod, continuing to diligently work on his two patients as they bobbed along in Optimus' and Ironhide's arms. "Their damage is extensive, but nothing I won't be able to repair. We may have to strip the ship for salvageable material in order for me to fabricate the needed parts, but I have no doubt that they will make a full recovery."

Sam leaned forward, one hand hooked on a ridge of armor so that he was not jolted off his guardian's shoulder form his odd, still slightly limping, gait. "What about Hound?"

Ratchet sighed, still focusing his main attentions on his critical patients. He wished he had some words that would offer the little human, not to mention the rest of the small group, some comfort, but those words were sorely lacking. "That is not for me to say…"


	7. Jump Ship

Sorry about the long wait for this chapter- I've been spreading myself a little too thin with a whole lot of personal projects I've been doing, one of them being sewing together a giant Optimus Prime! I'm posting pictures of him on my DeviantART account soon, so if anyone's curious, just pop in to my bio-page and use the link there.

Oh, and I don't know if anyone's noticed or not, but I posted a fic called _"When Heaven Fell." _It's not a necessary read, per say, but it does offer a better look into Flamewar's character and her defection from the Decepticons. It's only a short little thing, but I would appreciate a tiny bit of feedback for it. And if that one goes well, there's a second one called _Devil at the Crossroads, _which is a look at Soundwave's defection.

_Nightshade & Waspinator- _Characters developed by **Violetlight** and belong exclusively to her. Nightshade is a Decepticon femme apprenticing to Soundwave; Waspinator is her symbiote. Just so everyone knows, I did seek permission to use Nightshade and Waspinator; if anyone else wishes to use them in their stories, please go to **Violet** for permission.

_Flamewar's Term of Service- _Touch on only briefly in this, her service was the price she paid in order to contract Virus to attack Kaon with her. If you want to see how it all went down, _When Heaven Fell_ focuses on the events.

_Non-married Epps- _I know the novelization states that Epps has a wife and three kids, but I would rather he be single. Sorry if that grates on anyone's nerves.

'Normal'- normal English **'Bold'- **speaking in Cybertronian

My sincerest thanks goes out to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers! All of you are too great for words and I hope that even a fraction of my gratitude can be conveyed through this simple thank you note Thank you goes out to **Jason M. Lee, Bluebird Soaring, Elita One, Daebereth, Litahatchee, Bunnylass**, and **Twospotz!** You're all too wonderful!

Special thanks go out to **Litahatchee**, **Violetlight**, and **Lady Tecuma**! You three are simply amazing with all the help and encouragement that you've given me.

**As We Come Together**

**In Which Two 'Cons Jump Ship**

The moment they hit the perimeter of the base, Simmons descended upon them. With his head held high and his usual air of superiority cast about him, he did nothing less than set the approaching group's nerves further on edge.

"What the hell was that about?" the ex-Sector Seven agent demanded, gesturing widely to the plume of dirt and smoke still lingering in the air in the far distance.

His demands went unanswered as the Cybertronians easily stepped over him, utterly ignoring his demands as he scuttled under their feet. It did not seem to dawn on the agent that the two mechs being carried by Optimus and Ironhide were in critical condition- though, even if he did notice that the mechs were severely injured, he might have cared just as much as he did at the moment.

Having spent the summer being either utterly ignored or treated with the utmost hostility on the Autobot Base, Simmons was neither abashed nor put off by his lack of answers. Instead, he mounted the cart he had arrived on and whizzed along on the robots' heels, never ceasing his string of repeated demands. The agent may have been a pain in everyone's collective ass/aft, but he was nothing if not determined.

It was as they came upon the med bay that Ratchet finally looked up from his field work on Smokescreen's open chassis and muttered something low and quick to the men perched on Ironhide's shoulders did Simmons finally get an acknowledgement. Carefully, the pair scaled down the metal giant's back by leaping from armor plate to armor plate, landing firmly in front of Simmons' cart from Ironhide's foot, blocking the agent's way into the med bay.

"What happened out there is none of your business, Simmons," Epps said, his dark eyes flat and hard as they fixed on the wiry agent as he slithered from his vehicle. "If you had any right to know, they would have told you."

The muscles in Simmons' face quivered with a form of razor-edged anger. "None of my business, eh? If you haven't of noticed, I've been doing my job a hell of a lot better than you have; I've been dealing with cover-ups and NBEs since before you were _cadets_. I think that entitles me to far more than you would think."

That was enough to sufficiently raise their hackles. Though Will made no move to correct the agent on his dated use of the term "NBE", when said NBEs most certainly preferred to be either referred to as either _Transformers_ or _Cybertronians_, his glare did sharpen. Simmons' condescending tone alone was inviting a fight.

Epps crossed his arms over his broad chest, easily packing twice the muscle mass Simmons' lean frame possessed; if it came to a case of physically restraining the little man, it would be more of a pleasure than a chore. "Not from where we're standing, it doesn't," he replied. "You got no rank here, no authority," he nodded to Will, "_we _run the humans here, and, if you haven't noticed, _you're_ human, so that makes you under _our _authority. And we don't give a damn about what you think you're entitled to."

Unfazed by the greater-than-usual hostility being thrown at him, Simmons affixed a sneer to his face. "If you hadn't of noticed, _soldier boys-_" he made sure to put extra emphasis on the moniker, adding clear disdain to colour is already contemptuous voice, "-a huge-ass alien ship just took a nosedive in the middle of the Nevada desert, smack dab in the open where any goddamn satellite could pick it up. I wouldn't be surprised if you could see the crash site from space with the naked eye! Now tell me again that some answers aren't in order."

"Answers _are_ in order," Will growled, reaching the end of his tether, "but least of all to you. Keller and all the other appropriate channels will be notified."

"_All the appropriate channels_? Ha! With a showstopper like the one your little metal friends just put on, you can guarantee yourselves a spot on the Tonight Show before you get a hold of old Keller! We need action _now_ or else _Alien Invasion Starts Here _is going to be the headline used in every news station in the country tonight- maybe the world."

Trying, and failing, to avail to some reservoir of calm within him, Will finally let his patience snap and his temper flare- as it was wont to do around Simmons. "You know what, Simmons? I don't care if the _Uller_'s got a friggin' neon sign strapped to the top of it you can see from space, that's the least of any of our concerns right now." He was suddenly crowding into the agent's personal space, shoving him back. "They have two men down and one who could possibly be dead; they don't need you crawling up their tail pipes with shit they don't need to hear right now!"

Simmons shoved back, pushing the Army Ranger off him. "News flash, genius; new crews are going to be swarming the area in moments and all you can say is they got a couple of buddies with boo-boos? Think, man! Prioritize! What's more important, a couple of banged up tin cans or their continued secrecy from prime time television?"

Will's eyes turned dark, steely. "If you want something to be done about the _Uller_ then go do it yourself," he hissed. "Right now, I think there are more important things to focus on than what's going to be on CNN."

"Which is exactly why you two should never have been elected to be in charge of this farce in the first place," Simmons snapped. "No concept of the big picture! You're too used to taking orders, looking at the small picture on an order-by- order basis. Some things are more important than downed men-."

The insult, not to mention the blatant disregard for the injured aliens, hit home, fanning the flames of irritation in the captain and sergeant until it was a hot ball of ire broiling in them. Before Simmons could carry on, Will gave a disgusted snort and turned his back, shooting Epps a pointed stare before he walked away. "Get him out of here," he ordered darkly. "I don't want to see or hear him for the rest of the day."

"My pleasure," Epps replied, menace lacing his deep voice. As the captain stalked off into the bowels of the med bay, Epps used his superior height and mass to bully Simmons back into his cart, displaying some major skill as he juggled between driving the cart back to human sector and keeping Simmons himself in his seat.

Will, on the other hand, made his way through the tall, ominously silent halls of the nearly-finished med bay to where he knew the others would be. Instead of taking the right that would lead him directly to the main bay where Ratchet worked, he walked on a few paces to the human sized entrance that led up a flight stairs and opened onto a narrow balcony constructed along the upper part of the med bay's wall; the human-accommodating balconies were quickly becoming a fashion in all of the Autobot-sized buildings.

Sam and Mikaela spared Will only quick glances to acknowledge he was there, and then turned their worried gazes back to the rush of activity happening in the heart of the med bay. As the captain came to stand on Mikaela's right, her left being occupied by her boyfriend, the young woman gave him a second, sidelong glance. She saw the tension hovering in his locked jaw.

"Something happen with Simmons?" she asked quietly as her eyes slid back to watching Ratchet work on Smokescreen, stripping the warped armor from the mech. Bumblebee was doing the same for Mirage in the same methodical fashion, although there was an underlying, reverent attitude the scout was using in handling his once-commander's unconscious frame.

"You could say that," Will replied, not willing to go into detail just yet of why Simmons was such an asshole. The two teens were well aware of the long list of asshole-qualifications the agent met; no need to reiterate what was obvious.

"Where'd Epps go?" Sam wondered, attention diverting long enough to realize the tech sergeant wasn't with them.

"He's keeping Simmons company," Will said, grimacing.

"Poor guy," Sam sympathized.

Will nodded, then inclined his head to the mechs below. "How goes it with them?"

"They haven't said anything yet- at least not in English," Mikaela said. "But, well, I think Mirage's major damages are mostly external." She scrutinized the work carefully, eyes tracking every movement, memorizing, _learning_. "I think he's got some wires or something fused on the inside, but his armor is different from Smokescreen's- it's designed different, thicker I think; it protected him better from the heat."

Will nodded, eyeing the two piles of stripped armor, trying to discern the difference Mikaela had detected. To him, the twisted panels and plates looked relatively the same. But, he supposed, to someone who had been immersed in car parts since they were old enough to hold a tool, the differences must have been obvious.

"Where'd Optimus and Ironhide get to?" Will asked, noting the absence of the two towering mechs.

Mikaela shrugged. "I guess they went off to get things for Ratchet," she replied. Will accepted the answered without further questioning. Shortly after, as the humans continued to watch Ratchet work, commands to Bumblebee instructing him on what to do, Optimus and Ironhide returned with the needed materials Ratchet had ordered.

"**We're in sorry shape down in the stores room," **Ironhide grunted, shifting the temp plating he'd collected from their limited supply Ratchet had managed to fabricate recently.

Ratchet waved a dismissive hand at them, not bothering to look up. **"Does this look like Iacon Medical Treatment and Repair to you? We have to make due with what we have," **hegrunted. **"Set the temp plating over by the wall. We won't be needing it right away, not until I get their insides sorted out first." **Ironhide jerked his head in a nod and made to set the temp plating down. Ratchet continued on with his orders.** "Optimus, I want you to take those cubes of energon and hook them up to the converter on the wall; that stuff may be low-grade but it's still too strong for these two to handle. De-energize and dilute the cubes until they're around C-class energy level." **

Optimus bowed to the order, striding quickly to the small station set into the wall.

Moments after their appearance, the base's only human doctor, Dr Felicity Spring, appeared on the balcony, a pleasant woman in her mid-forties with a handsome face and strong hands. She'd worked with Sector Seven for most of her career, acting as the on-base physician making sure the agents remained in peak physical condition; she took her new position working on the alien base in the med bay alongside Ratchet in good humour. Explaining that she had been asked to see to Will's wounds by Optimus, she went about her business quickly and then left with a jaunty smile as she set out to find Epps and clean him up, too.

Only peripherally aware of the audience on the balcony, Bumblebee and Ratchet continued to repair their two dire comrades.

"**They're remarkably stable," **Bumblebee commented as he carefully unwired a fused set of afferent neural receptors from Mirage's arm. When Ratchet shot the scout a questioning look, Bumblebee quickly explained, **"What I meant to say was, well- they're in critical condition, but their vital signs are remaining stable at least. Right?" **

"**A small blessing, yes," **Ratchet sighed. For a pair of mechs who'd just come barrelling through the atmosphere practically _naked_, Mirage and Smokescreen were holding out relatively well, though Smokescreen was teetering on a very precarious edge. **"Let's hope they stay stable long enough to allow they're self-repair programs to do their jobs." **

"**You're a fine medic, Ratchet; you'll find a way to keep them stable long enough," **Optimus assured warmly as he handed over the first diluted cube.

"**It's been vorns since I've had any other patients other than you three. You better hope my skills haven't gone rusty," **the medic groused as he hooked up the right lines for transfusion. He waved a dismissive hand towards his leader. **"Go get some of that lubricant the humans have supplied us with," **he ordered. **"Bumblebee, when he gets back I want you to start applying the lubricant to both Mirage and Smokescreen's frames- and you'll have to cycle it manually. They've evaporated every last drop of their own." **

"**You want to use the humans' lubricant?" **Ironhide snorted disbelievingly.

Ratchet sent the mech a withering glare. **"It's not like I have an abundance of proper materials with me," **he snapped.** "The humans' products may not be up to our standards, but using their lubricant is better than nothing." **

"**If you say so," **the burly black mech shrugged.

"**Ironhide, I suggest if you are going to stand there uselessly that you either go stand by the wall or leave. I don't have time to deal with you now," **Ratchet said tersely, deigning to look up long enough to glare.

Reluctantly, Ironhide grunted and backed off, hovering near the balcony wall. Will took the opportunity to lean over and knock on the mech's shoulder, requesting to be filled in on what was going on. The weapons specialist acquiesced and went about relaying the situation in English.

Thankfully, despite Ratchet's gross lack of proper medical equipment or supplies, he managed to get through the numerous needed repairs in order to ensure Mirage and Smokescreen remained in stable condition. The surgeries took the poor medic and his assistant, the valiantly working Bumblebee, straight through to late noon. After that, it was only a matter of allowing the mechs' self-repair programs to do their job and maintain a stringent regime of checkups to make sure everything healed as it should.

Unfortunately, it was also around late noon that Epps finally lost control of Simmons and the agent came barging up the stairs to the balcony with the tech sergeant storming on his heels, Maggie, looking tight-lipped and disgruntled, bringing up the rear.

Will bristled, but his face remained stark, steeling himself for the inevitable round two. Behind him, Ironhide's gears grated as he picked up the agent's organic signature coming closer.

Surprisingly, it was Sam that made the first move to engage the fuming agent. "What do you want now, Simmons?" he demanded, arms crossed, expression hard.

"It's got nothing to do with you, tough guy," Simmons retorted, his dark eyes straying to Will. "My business is with the _Captain_ there." He tried to brush the teen aside, but Sam preformed some fancy footwork to get right back in the agent's face.

"Whatever you want with him you can say in front of us," he said, giving a vague wave that encompassed all in the med bay.

Epps finally caught up, clapping a large hand on the rogue man's shoulder in a death-grip, trying to steer him away. "Look man, I've already told you- they don't want to hear what you want to say right now," Epps warned darkly. "I've been busting my ass all day trying to tell you that!"

Will's gaze strayed to Maggie, who looked drawn and ready to say something as she hovered near the top of the stairs. Clutched tightly to her chest was her ever-important laptop. Curious to hear what had to be said and why that required Maggie's presence, Will lifted a hand to still Epps grappling contest with Simmons.

"Let him go, Epps. Let's hear his piece." And then as an after thought, "Sam, you can stand down, too." Both men looked ready to protest but did as they were asked.

"About time," the agent sneered. He made a show of straightening out his rumpled uniform, and then glanced up to make sure he had everyone's attention, including the Autobots'. His dark gaze then re-settled on Will.

"As I told you this morning, Lennox, the media-vultures are circling," he informed, "I told you so" glittering venomously in his eyes. "They're out there clamouring over themselves to get off the highway turnoff and invade this place. Half the base's staff is out there trying to contain them and the other half is in the air warding off the camera 'copters that are swarming. You're lucky I gave a damn about my own job enough to issue the orders to cover your ass, soldier, or else the smoking remains of your precious little ship would have been center stage on the 5 o'clock news."

"Well, thanks for covering our asses," Will bit out, sounding anything but thankful.

Optimus moved to the balcony's edge, leaning his bulk over the railing so his large faceplate was on better level with the agent. Prime's expression was grim. "Agent Simmons, while I appreciate your prompt directness in dealing with the event and aiding us to remain unseen by the public eye, I would ask that you _not_ refer to the _Uller_ in such disrespectful terms." His words left no room for argument.

"Perhaps it would be best if you stated your reasons for being here before it becomes necessary to have you _escorted_ out," Ratchet offered. Ironhide glared pointedly, making it clear that he would be more than happy to escort the agent out, by physical means if necessary.

"I doubt you came here seeking only to harass us," the medic continued, his clipped tones a testament to how much he was suffering to endure Simmons in his med bay.

"Of course not," Simmons snapped. "I have better things to do than waste my time haunting the wings of some car garage-" Optimus had to silently warn Ratchet to stand down as the medic bristled tartly at the slur to his med bay. Simmons was unfazed, waving Maggie forward. Her lips were pursed and her expression clearly said she didn't appreciate waved in like a dog.

"While I was out directing the men to barricade off the news crews, Miss Madsen and Mr Whitman have been monitoring broadcasts and internet activity-,"

"And let me guess- _they've found something_," Mikaela drawled bitingly.

Sniffing curtly, the agent nodded. His sharp gaze fell accusingly on Optimus. "It would have been nice if one of you had deigned it important enough to let the American Government know that there would be multiple planet falls being orchestrated today."

Optimus quirked an optic ridge. "_Multiple _planet falls?"

"Yes, _multiple_," Simmons confirmed. "And now, because nobody thought it pertinent enough to inform anyone, we've got _this_ do deal with-." Maggie took that as her cue to snap open her laptop, displaying a window featuring some reporter hovering at the lip of what looked like a recent crater.

"This is a Canadian broadcast we picked up this afternoon," she elaborated, "You may find it… _interesting_." She entered a few keys and the plucky looking reporter came to life on the screen, her name subtitled below; _Carolyn Stokes_.

"_-in an extraordinary turn of events, no less than __**three **__meteors crashed here in Newfoundland last night; one in Gander and another two in the Torngat Mountain range in northern Labrador. A fourth meteor also crashed in the Torngat region only a few short hours ago, but due to the area's remote location, those three meteors have yet to be confirmed by our cameras. There have also been reports of a fifth that has touched down somewhere in the Nevada Desert in the United States. _

"_I am here in Gander where the first of the meteors crashed. As you can see behind me, the crater here is quite large and astronomers predict that the meteor, which seems to have exploded on impact, may have been the size of a truck, which is quite unbelievable since, aside from the sizeable crater, damage to the area is minimal! With me now are Chip Chase and Josie Beller, two of five witnesses who were here when this once-in-a-life-time event took place." _The camera panned over to the two other people standing with Carolyn, a fair-haired man sitting in a wheelchair and a blazing redhead leaning over the back of the chair.

Mikaela gasped and reeled back, eyes wide. "Oh my God, I know them!" she shrieked.

"What do you mean _you know them_?" Simmons asked, instantly suspicious.

"They're my aunt's friends," she spat out, flushing brightly. "They served together in the military before Chase walked out. I know them because their cottage is practically right next door to Chase's." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I hope Chase is okay…"

"I'm sure she's fine," Sam offered. "She probably hung over somewhere, right?"

Mikaela shrugged. "Yeah… yeah, she could be…"

"_Shh_, listen," Bumblebee hushed, avidly listening to the interview as Chip spoke.

"_-we were just having a small party out on the shore, you know? Me, Josie, and a couple friends up from Nevada and Washington to celebrate our engagement- nothing fancy or anything. It must have been well after midnight when we seen the meteors come streaking across the sky; I couldn't believe it when one passed right over our heads and crashed in the field next to the cottage. I thought I'd been drinking too much, like maybe I hallucinated the whole thing." _

"_Most amazing thing I've ever seen." _Josie added with a shake of her head.

"_And everyone was unharmed in the event?" _

Chip and Josie exchanged a look and then shrugged. Chip answered, _"Yeah, nobody got hurt, just a little shaken up. It's not every day a space rock lands in your backyard." _

"_Certainly not," _Carolyn acquiesced goon-naturedly. She turned towards the camera once more. _"Well, there you have it, one heck of a night for a group of party goers and all of them thankfully unharmed. And now we turn to Dr Patrick Kennedy from the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada to help explain the recent increase in meteor activity, from the five meteors we've had crash to Earth today to the four that crashed in Tranquility, Nevada only four short months ago." _

The screen split, introducing a friendly looking man in his early forties, light brown hair and a comical star-spangled tie.

"_Hello there, Carolyn," _Dr Kennedy greeted cheerily.

"_Hello, Dr Kennedy. Mind sharing your thoughts on the recent astronomical activity: Is it just coincidence, or do we have aliens on our hands?" _Carolyn joked.

"_Depending on who you talk to, aliens could be a distinct possibility!" _Dr Kennedy laughed.

Will's expression notably darkened. "Turn it off."

"Really? It's not even at the good part yet," Simmons retorted snidely. "You haven't even heard his jokes on little green men, _they're hilarious_."

"I said _turn it off_, Simmons," Will reiterated sharply.

Nostrils flared, eyes glittering, he knew he got his message across. Waving for Maggie to close the window, Simmons grinned one of his more oily smiles. "See how really screwed we are now? We've got aliens in the news. Even if it's just jokes now, if things continue on the way they are, it'll escalate, and then who the hell knows what we'll be in for? I won't always be around to cover your asses." He turned and left on his own.

"_Asshole,_" Sam hissed under breath, glaring at Simmons' retreating back.

"Sorry about that," Epps sighed as soon as the agent was out of earshot. "I could only hold him for so long."

"But he does have a point," Optimus conceded. "Having attention brought to astronomical and extraterrestrial activity will not act in our favour."

"We will just have to be more careful in the future," Bumblebee said.

"Nosy little creatures, crawling over ever crater that happens to appear," Ironhide snorted dourly. "Cannot leave anything alone..."

"_Hello_, nosy little creatures within hearing distance," Sam called, though Ironhide pretended not to hear.

"_Some_ good did come of the report," Ratchet pointed out. "At least we now have a point of reference from which to search for Hound."

"You mean in Newfoundland, _Canada:_ The land of ice and snow and fish?" Sam held a distinctly disgusted look on his face.

"Yes, Sam, Newfoundland, Canada: The land where Hound crashed." Optimus replied calmly. "Seeing as the Gander crater was empty by the time Mr Chase and Miss Beller got there, it is most likely whoever was in it was able to walk out."

"Meaning if it _was _Hound, he could be alive up there," Bumblebee interjected happily.

"We should put together a rescue team as soon as possible," Will offered.

"You volunteering?" Epps asked.

"Nah, can't," the captain sighed. "Sarah's getting a little antsy with me being away for so long. She wants me home, and I want to be home. I'm missing my girls. How about you?"

Epps shrugged. "I'll go. Not like I have anyone here to miss me. We'll need someone who knows the area, though. You feel up for a road trip, Mikaela?"

She shook her head. "It'd be best if I stayed here," she replied. "If Chase, or even Chip or Josie, see me there, they'll be wondering what the hell I wasn't home. I can't exactly tell them I'm on a search and rescue mission for a crashed alien. So, that means I'm out." She glanced at Sam and his disgruntled expression. "And Mr Snow-and-Ice over there is probably out, too."

"It's _cold_ up there," Sam whined.

Mikaela rolled her eyes. "It's not _that_ bad," she admonished. "It's summer."

"I'll go," Maggie chirped. "I don't know the area, but a quick MapQuest of the area does wonders."

Will nodded, approving. He then turned his attentions to Optimus. "Alright, we got two humans to go with one of you in case you run into any biological trouble. Which one of you guys is going to go in case there's non-biological trouble?"

"Ironhide." Optimus announced decisively. "Seeing as three of the four meteors are undoubtedly Decepticon, Ironhide would be our best option to send in case engagement with them is inevitable."

"Ironhide it is," Will nodded.

"We will set out at dawn tomorrow," Ironhide ordered firmly.

"Yes, sir," Epps said, saluting loosely.

"I'll go pack," Maggie sighed, scurrying away.

Unnoticed, Mirage's optics flickered dimly. Satisfied with what he heard, he settled back into unconsciousness contentedly, knowing that Hound's fate was in good hands.

* * *

Nightshade knew her retribution was coming the moment she entered the single hangar of the _Darksyde_, now naked without the usual presence of the _Invader_ to fill it. Flamewar's presence was both palpably threatening and disturbingly close as she peeled herself out from the shadows clinging to the walls next to the doors, sliding to Nightshade's side silently.

"You wish to speak with me?" Nightshade enquired, keeping her faceplate and voice devoid of any telltale signs of nervousness as her superior prowled around her. A meeting like this, out of the way, far from the silent security Soundwave offered, did not bode well for the communications officer, but she dared not decline the request. She and Flamewar, after all, could be considered friends- of a sort. As much as a pair of ex-Decepticon-femmes-turned-mercenaries, one even having served under the command of the other, could be. To decline to come might result in something worse happening.

"Yes, I do," Flamewar replied, her voice sliding like poison through the air.

"About what?" the other femme asked, feigning ignorance for the time being, seeing if she could buy herself time.

Flamewar's expression turned foul. "You know what."

Nightshade grimaced; yes, she was fully aware what this little meeting was about. Her actions on the bridge had been rash. She'd only told Virus about Flamewar's miniature takeover of the ship to spite the other femme for her highhandedness. Nightshade wasn't sure which to label herself stupider for; tattling to Virus like some little fresh-from-the-Allspark youngling or for thinking Flamewar wouldn't seek revenge in return.

If it came to a fight, she was dead. Thank Primus she'd had the insight to ask one of her mentor's symbiotes to keep watch nearby, out-of-the-way so as not to provoke Flamewar, but close enough to jump to Nightshade's aid, or contact Soundwave at the very least, in the need arose.

"What were you thinking, pulling that little stunt of yours on the bridge?" Flamewar hissed, the needles of her armor bristling.

"Virus needed to know-" A derisive laugh cut her off.

"That's absolute slag, Nightshade. You know what Virus is like and you knew what she'd do if you told her the _Uller _had been on our trail all this time; you did it out of the sheer pleasure of seeing her exact your revenge on me for you." A claw came up to draw along the polished, sleek darkness of Nightshade's armor. "I'll have you know, I don't appreciate being made a fool."

Waiting in the wings, Ravage shifted anxiously, sharp optics fixated on the exchange for any sign that it was about to go beyond verbal lashing.

"_How could you?" _Flamewar hissed incredulous in her audios. "You _must_ know how I feel in this situation, at least to some capacity? Barricade is down on that planet and now, thanks to you, I am as far away from him now as I was in the Beta-Zen galaxy." Flamewar was truly hurting to be so close to Barricade and yet so far.

"I-"

"Don't you dare try and defend what you did, you little oil smear," Flamewar spat. "Keeping Virus in the dark about the _Uller_ was our only hope of reaching the planet's surface without dealing with the slag of engaging them, and now look at us! We're practically dead in space with nothing to show for it!" The look that the femme fixed Nightshade with promised impending bodily harm. A clawed hand clenched, slowly rising. "And, whether you'd like to acknowledge it or not, this is all your fault-!" The fist launched forward, guided by blind rage. Nightshade shuttered her optics, turning her head in dread of what was to come, only to have Flamewar's fist blocked by one large, blunt midnight-painted finger.

"Soundwave!" Flamewar gasped in surprise, leaping back.

"I am aware that you are frustrated by the situation, Flamewar, but _do not_ take your frustrations out on Nightshade," Soundwave warned darkly, insinuating himself between the two femmes. He was so huge compared to their small frames that both femmes were forced to step back a few paces.

Ravage slunk out from the shadows of the holding crates, pausing long enough to accept the curt nod Soundwave issued him before trotting out of the hangar and away from the drama that was unfolding. Flamewar's blazing glare followed him out; yet another creature on the ship she would have to put in their place.

"This is between me and her, Soundwave. Get out of here if you know what's good for you." Flamewar ground out.

"Nightshade is my ward; whatever _business_ you have with her can be directed through me," Soundwave growled, the looming threat in his voice was _very_ real.

Sharpened blades descended from Flamewar's arms. She may have only been a fraction of the mech's size, but she was still willing to put up a good fight against him. "It's her fault that I'm stuck on this rust bucket."

"Is it really?" Soundwave enquired, his rumbling voice vibrating the hangar ominously.

"What are you getting at?"

"If you had not tried to conceal the _Uller_'s presence from Virus in the first place, you never would have been confined to the ship."

"You know he's right, Flamewar," Nightshade pointed out lightly, only to be snapped at.

"And if I hadn't concealed the _Uller'_s presence, we'd be backtracking all across this Primus forsaken galaxy chasing after them from the moment she caught whiff of their presence!" Flamewar growled. "It's bad enough we're chasing Megatron's ghost for Virus's deluded fantasies, I'm not willing to waste anymore of my time."

"Then go, if you so want too," Soundwave said.

"I'm still trapped here."

"Are you?"

"What do you mean, _am I_? You heard her!"

"I don't see Virus anywhere on this ship. She left a couple joors ago to collect Trojan and Worm, remember? She can't enforce an order if she's not here."

Flamewar instantly blanched, realization leaching across her features. A new light came into Flamewar's optics, a dazzling, dangerous, wonderful light. "You're right…"

The ends of Soundwave's mouthplates quirked up slightly. "You've been under Virus's command for too long, Flamewar."

"As have you," the femme spat back.

"Yes, but by choice, not by terms of service."

"My term of service under Virus was served vorns ago… I just stayed here because I had no where else to go." Her voice sounded was breathy, awed. She breathed a soft. self-depricating laugh. "I'd completely fogotten. _I'm free."_

"Which means you can leave any time you want."

Suddenly, all vestiges of her anger evaporated in light of this new revelation. "Yes, that's right. I can leave. I can go find Barricade."

"Precisely," Soundwave rumbled. "However, you will not be alone."

"Oh?"

"I will be accompanying you for Frenzy," Soundwave informed. He glanced over his shoulder to Nightshade. "Go retrieve Waspinator from your quarters and bring him out of stasis."

Nightshade visibly brightened. "I'm going with you?" In all her time serving under Soundwave, her mentor had been adamant about keeping her on the ship and out of most harm's way. It was damn annoying to have such an overprotective mentor, unusual for a Decepticon, but he was a good teacher nonetheless

"No. You will be breaking contract with Waspinator and transferring him into Flamewar's care. Waspinator's unique ability to see the entire spectrum of electromagnetic wavelengths will help us greatly in locating Barricade and Frenzy."

"Why can't I come with you?" Nightshade demanded. "You know that Waspinator responds best to my commands."

"Our group cannot be too large, it will be too noticeable. Flamewar and I will head for Earth, you will stay here."

"Besides, someone has to stay with the ship," Flamewar reasoned, grinning. Nightshade staying on the _Darksyde_ would have to serve as her revenge for now.

"Leave Rumble here, or Ravage, or even Ratbat for Primus sake! You always leave me behind! I've graduated from being your student a thousand times over, and yet you still treat me like a youngling!" Nightshade hissed, righteously angry.

Soundwave stared down unblinkingly. "If I wished to have no ship to retrun to, I would leave Rumble or one of the others here. As it were, I would rather the _Darksyde_ stay in one piece and Virus remained oblivious to our departure. You are the best for the job."

Hearing the finality in her master's voice, the young femme stalked off to her quarters, returning shortly after with a small, insectoid creature. It buzzed about her merrily, the clusters of optics arranged on its head shifting and glinting in the stark hangar lights. Utterly disgruntled, she broke her symbiotic contract with Waspinator and handed him over to the other femme.

"You better take care of him," she hissed.

"Don't worry, I will," Flamewar replied, grinning acidly.

Biting back any remark that might cost her dearly later, Nightshade nodded curtly and stalked out.

Soundwave began to usher Flamewar towards the wide hatch at the end of the hangar. "I have already located the general vicinity that Barricade and Frenzy's signals emanate from, a place called Tranquility, Nevada. Frenzy is obvious employing dampening fields to mask their presence though, because I cannot triangulate a specific set of coordinates for them."

A wild fluttering was already beginning to dance in Flamewar's spark the nearer she got to the hatch. Her optics were blazing brightly. "We'll just have to find them the old fashioned way," she said, lifting the shoulder in which Waspinator was roosting on.

"Indeed." Beyond the glinting visor that hid the mech's optics, a bright play of pride and excitement danced. As they stood before the hatch, waiting for Nightshade to input the unlocking sequence, they reverted to their protoforms. Paint colours faded into myriads of fluid, mercurial silvers, greys and blacks, armor suddenly collapsing into its most basic, condensed form, and all extraneous systems shutting down for the time being.

"_Depressurising hangar. Hatch locking sequence disengaged; opening hatch," _Nightshade's voice warned as the seam between the two slates of metal screeched open slowly, revealing the blue mudball planet turning harmlessly below.

"Ready?" Soundwave enquired.

"For Barricade? Always."


	8. Plot Thickens

Sorry for the lateness! I've been working like a madwoman at my work since a whole bunch of people QUIT! Gah! Not to mention, I've had a lot on my plate otherwise. Bad things have been creeping up on me lately and I'm doing my best to handle them.

On a fun note- if anyone is interested, I've begun expanding my "We" universe (meaning the continuality that _What Time We Have Left_ and _As We Come Together_ exist in). I have two extra side-stories (and a few in the works) that further expand on characters within my continuality in order to give you a better perspective on them. One fic is _When Heaven Fell, _which gives a better look at Flamewar and who she is. The second fic is _What's it feel like to be a Ghost?_, which is a good look at Sunstreaker in his gladiator orns in the past- although, this fic could just be read as a stand-alone too that belongs to no specified universe.

_Whisper and Detour_- Not OCs. I sort of plucked them from a list of Decepticons in order to have a larger crew for the _Double-cross_ but didn't want to insert completely OC characters.

_Chaar- _Planet name sound familiar? G1 fans might know it! xD

Major, super, galaxy-sized thank you goes out to the wonderful, amazing, excellent readers and reviewers for the last chapter! Thank you so much to the time you put into reading the last chapter and leaving me a review! I want to let all of you know how much it truly means to me when you leave a review! Thank you to **Daebereth, Elita One, Jason M. Lee, Violetlight, lady tecuma, Bluebird Soaring, Misao-CG, Silveriss, theshadowcat, Bunnylass, Melora Maxwell**, and **Litahatchee**!

Plus a super awesome Godzilla-sized shout out goes out to **Litahatchee** and **Violetlight **for taking a quick look over this chapter for me! You two are awesome!

Quick Note Gah! I feel like such an ass! I forgot to give a special, sepcial shout out to **Litahatchee** for helping me on some of the interactions in this chapter! **Lita,** you've been the best in figuring out how to make somethings make a little more sense with far less of a headache! You're amazing! Sorry for forgetting to say this earlier! .

**As We Come Together  
****In Which the Plot Thickens**

Orns of countless drifting, one bleak joor leaking into the next, half conscious, half dead, not knowing where he was…

Starscream was living his worst nightmare.

Maybe he was still in the Beta-Zen galaxy, trapped in his escape pod and dying slowly of a virus that should have finished him off long ago. Or perhaps he really was dead and all that was left of him now was a free floating entity of the universe without form or purpose. Possibly he was living the ultimate truth that all living beings had to face after they died; there was no Matrix, no afterlife, no light at the end of the tunnel; there was only this, loneliness and disappointment, _nothingness_.

Who knew? Not him. And he couldn't summon enough of himself to care. He wasn't really there anymore, after all. He felt no pain. Not physically. Not mentally. Not emotionally. There was barely thought; hardly self.

Upon the ephemeral streams that drifted throughout universe, Starscream was carried away, whether it be his physical body moving or that of something more intangible. He floated; drifted. The flows that carried him moved in fluid patterns, undisturbed by all else.

Time was an inconsequential concept.

Nothing was real anymore. Not even Starscream.

Sometimes, though, in moments when the myriad of the drifting universe dimmed and the hushed whisperings of the stars and the invisible watching entities of the universe stilled, Starscream remembered things. _Memories._ That's what his scrap of self-awareness told him. Every fading instinct told him to hold on to those grainy, patched pictures and half-brained sensations. They were important. They were part of who he was.

Thoughts of flight. Of the cool, smooth feeling of air passing above and below the body as he cut a swath through the sky. The air was humming, singing to him in a tune that only he knew; the vibration of his thrusters working, stabilizers correcting themselves on their own, sensors probing, and nothing else in the world on his processor other than the vast emptiness of the sky around him. He was alone up there. There was peace inside him.

The feeling of victory. Of bubbling, burning pride as it worked its way through his energon lines, sizzling his neural relays, swelling in his spark. The bright, bold taste of serving defeat to the enemy was vibrantly real to him; knowing that it was with his own cunning, his own cleverness, that his team had been able to triumph. It was addicting.

The burn of anger. The acid of hatred. The choking need for _revenge_.

All memories. All a part of who he was. He struggled to hold on to the little scraps of himself. It was like grasping the grains of sand from some world he no longer had a name for, each frustratingly small granule slipping through his astral fingers slowly but surely. He knew if he let go, he'd lose everything.

Uncounted orns passed in utter, reflective silence. The transient, shifting tides of space carried the being known as Starscream far, guided only by the masterful fingers of fate. Passed the borders of the Beta-Zen galaxy, into the heart of nameless other regions. Simply drifting. Undisturbed. Aimless. Half alive. Half dead.

Until one orn, something finally disturbed Starscream's path.

* * *

"Something odd on sensors, Swindle."

From his place in the _Double_-_cross_'s captain seat, Swindle glanced up and narrowed his single, glowing optic. "Define odd," he asked, not liking the strange tone of voice Detour was using. The small minibot swivelled in his chair at tactical, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Escape pod," Detour grunted.

Had Swindle an optic ridge to quirk, he would have. "What's odd about that? Intercept it and we'll strip it for parts."

"It has the _Nemesis_' signature on it."

That gave Swindle pause. "That _is_ odd," he conceded. "Still… hail it, see who's aboard."

"I already have, several times. Nobody responds, but scans show that _something's_ aboard that pod, I just can't tell what."

Whisper at the helm was already laying in a course for the mysterious escape pod. "It won't hurt to find out what it is," he reasoned. "If we're not picking up any life signs, how dangerous can it be?"

"Very well, but proceed with caution," Swindle warned, rising from his seat and making his way off the bridge. There was a possible profit to be made off the pod and whatever it contained, but that didn't warrant any of his crew could be reckless about it.

"And where are you going?"

"To gather the rest of the Combaticons, I'm sure they would like to be informed of this little anomaly," the dealer replied as he slipped into the corridor beyond. The only reason his fellow gestalt members allowed him to keep his little business afloat from within the ship was because it offered them quite a lucrative way to showcase their individual talents, and, occasionally, use their _combined_ talent. Sadly though, when lacking Brawl, their combined talent was greatly lacking.

* * *

Much unlike the _Darksyde_, the _Double-cross_ was state-of-the-art. It was one of the largest stealth-class ships on the market, equipped with all the finest black market contraband ill-earned credits could buy. Gathered in one of its considerable hangars, all eyeing the newly brought in escape pod, were all the members of the Combaticon team. Minus Blast Off, who opted to remain sulking in the med bay where he could continue to bemoan his self-imposed isolation, and Brawl, who had not been with them for a _long_ time.

"You mind explaining what this is all about, Swindle?" Vortex asked testily, arms crossed and long claws tapping impatiently on storm-grey armor.

"This is an escape pod from the _Nemesis_," the mech explained, circling it eagerly. "It's in pretty good shape, so either it was launched recently or it's been lucky enough to travel a long way without so much as a single good scratch. Maybe both."

Visibly, his fellow mechs brightened, straightening their stances. "The _Nemesis_, you say…?" Onslaught asked curiously. Brawl's ship.

"Yes. Strangely enough, sensors picked up no life signs from within."

The two other Combaticons deflated slightly.

"Whatever was inside must have died," Onslaught sighed, hoping to the Matrix that the corpse inside would not be his fellow Combaticon. "Where is the ship if the pod is here?"

Swindle allowed a sigh to shift through his vents. "I have Detour and Whisper scanning the area but so far there's not even a trail to follow. No ship, not even a debris field where one might have been. There hasn't even been any recent Decepticon broadcasts announcing anything, either. I don't think anyone knows the _Nemesis_ is in the area again."

"Seeing as this is an escape pod, it's a distinct possibility that the _Nemesis_ is damaged or destroyed," Vortex pointed out flatly.

"That does not bode well for our Brawl," Onslaught pointed out darkly.

Swindle felt along the seams of the sleek, narrow craft, hardly large enough to fit a normal sized mech. As his fingers brushed the panel next to the rounded door, the locking mechanisms released, door hissing open with a small dribble of energon running onto the floor.

With a creak of disturbed metal, a frame slid to the floor. Starscream's frame.

There was a brief pause of disbelief before the hangar was thrown into an uproar.

"What the pit is this?!" Vortex roared, rearing back from the corpse, revile etched across his faceplate.

Onslaught crouched to touch the cold frame, jerking back as a slight vibration passed through his fingertips. "He's still alive!" he exclaimed.

"That's impossible!" Swindle choked out, groping around to find some footing over the slick spill of cold energon. "There were no life signs!"

"It damn well _is_ possible if he's alive right in front of us!" Onslaught barked back, smacking the floundering Swindle away. "He's weak; that's probably why you didn't pick up any life signs."

Vortex glared furiously at Starscream's limp frame, tensing as a barely audible groan passed through the Seeker's vocal processor. If he was the only survivor of the _Nemesis_, instead of more deserving bots, instead of Brawl or Megatron, then Vortex would fly into a black hole.

"Don't just stand there, you useless things, help me haul him up!" Onslaught growled, already with his hands beneath the Seeker's shredded wings, beginning to shift the large frame.

Optics narrowing, Vortex turned his head to the side to where a small stash of away ships were landed. "Counterpunch! Get over here!" he barked sharply.

There was a terrified yelp and a shriek of metal against metal as a dark-indigo frame came sprawling down the side of a nearby ship, landing in a heap on the floor. "Y-yes, Vortex?"

"Help them haul Starscream," the mech ordered, waving dismissively as his leader and team mate balanced the dead weight between them.

Counterpunch goggled at the almost-corpse, his mouth gaping slightly. "S-Starscream?" he squeaked.

"No, half-bit, it's another Seeker who's just as ugly," Vortex snapped. "Of course it's Starscream!"

Counterpunch stuttered his apologies and inched closer, staring at the Seeker's unmoving frame with an expression that was of awe and a little terror.

Onslaught growled. What possessed them to keep such a weak, spineless little thing on board was beyond him. "You and Swindle take him to the med bay. We'll go ahead and warn Blast Off you're coming." He dropped the Seeker's frame into Counterpunch's shaking arms, nearly buckling the poor mech. "Don't drop him, he's in fragile condition."

"Maybe that's reason enough to drop him," Vortex groused, continuing to glare.

Shoving the grumbling mech aside, Onslaught made for the exit. "We will interrogate him later. For now, let's keep him alive."

Swindle looked mutinous. The _Double-cross_ may have been his ship, but he was still subject to his gestalt leader, no matter how much a pain in the aft he was. He shifted Starscream's considerable weight, causing the bulk of it to fall into Counterpunch's incapable hands. The poor mech jittered, optics wide, mouthplates working rapidly in a silent plea as he juggled Starscream's frame.

"T-to the m-med bay, right?" he stuttered.

Swindle sighed, nodding. "Yeah, med bay. Just don't bang him around."

The underling looked absolutely scandalized. "I- I won't! I swear! I'll t-treat him l-like a treasure!"

"I wouldn't go that far," Swindle replied flatly, snorting through his vents. He began to manoeuvre towards the door. Detour and Whisper were already there, crowding the way to get their first look at Starscream.

"_Frag_, he looks like he's been through the wringer," Whisper whistled.

"Guess this means no Allspark, huh?" Detour sighed.

Swindle shouldered past his curious crew, backing into the hall carefully. "It could mean anything," he said grimly. "Worst case scenario, it'll be bad for business."

* * *

There'd been a change in Starscream's endless drifting. Something had come into his path, gathered him up, swallowed him whole, and now the gentle whispers of the universe were gone. The shallow existence was gone. Quiet, reflective silence was no longer his swathing blanket draped around his ethereal figure of smoke and half-thought.

Reality was harsh.

Real language assaulted his audios. Cybertronian language. _His_ language.

His frame was jarred this way and that between two beings, their voices like glass to him as they chattered back and forth. It was difficult to listen after so long of listening to nothing, to the gentle whispers of space around him. Their voices were harsh, real, and too close. They made no sense. There were words, syntax, semantics, everything needed for proper language, and Starscream knew that, just as he inexplicably knew the identity of each mech that carried him, but it was beyond his abilities at the moment to understand, to comprehend any of it.

A bright flash of agony seared through his frame from out of the ether of his conscious. Someone had banged his wing. No, not just banged it; they whacked it hard against some too hard object as if they really hated it. The pain was unbearable. A wretched screech ripped from his mouth, and then the air was wrought with curses from one mech and a panicked voice stuttering terrified apologies to Primus, the other mech, and to Starscream himself from the other.

The pain overwhelmed the voices. If there was a specific sound for agony, that was all that rang in Starscream's audios.

The ache bled like molten fury through his wings, flowing like liquid fire through his neural relays, blazing hot, screaming loud, overcoming all bounds to storm his processor until his too bright, too loud world was nothing but a raging tempest.

Senses overwhelmed, a last peal of unintelligible agonized pain wrenched from him before his thoughts drifted once more to oblivion.

The last thing he was able to comprehend before his world went black was that he had _felt_ pain. Physical pain in an appendage that belonged to his physical frame.

He wasn't dead after all.

* * *

"You idiot."

Counterpunch quivered in cowardice, backed into the far wall of the med bay. "I-I- I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drop him! He- he was just too heavy!"

Onslaught was unmoved by the mech's pleas, though Vortex seemed doubly satisfied that Starscream's barely-holding-on wing had been disconnected in the fall.

"Just get out." The Combaticon leader ordered flatly. Counterpunch, optics wide, bowed as low as he possibly could before scampering out from under the powerful mech's hard gaze.

Whisper and Detour continued to linger by the door, watching as Blast Off examined the newly arrived Air Commander's unmoving frame. Onslaught fixed them with a gaze no less severe than what he used on Counterpunch. Without words, they understood the order and left, although obviously feeling a bit snubbed at being left out.

With the room emptied of all non-Combaticon presences, Onslaught finally turned to the previously ignored Blast Off as he completed his preliminary scans and switched to reattaching Starscream's severed wing at a notably leisurely pace.

"So?"

Blast Off paused, glanced up with a morose expression, and then returned to his work. "So what?"

"What have you found with Starscream?" Onslaught asked, reigning in the urge to smack the mech. "What happened to him? What's wrong with him?"

The mech who served as their sort-off instated medic shrugged. "He had the slag beat out of him," Blast Off stated dully.

Vortex's optics narrowed. "No, _really_? And here I thought looking like a scrap heap was a new fashion statement."

Ignoring his fellow gestalt, Blast Off continued. "He's also been infected with an Alpha-class virus," he said, and the rest of the mechs recoiled. Swindle, who had been poking around Starscream to see if any sellable parts had fallen off, jumped away as if he had been burned. "What's more is that it's got Virus's signature all over it. There's no mistaking her programming."

"What would drive her to attack?" Onslaught asked.

"It's Starscream; do any of us need a reason?" Vortex shot back.

Swindle's large optic swivelled, and then concentrated on Starscream. "If it _was_ Virus, he'd be dead by now."

"He _is_ dead," Blast Off replied as he plucked up a temp plate and began wielding it.

"What do you mean 'he is dead'? He can't be; he's lying right in front of us _alive_." Onslaught enquired.

Blast Off finished welding on a temp plate to the seam on Starscream's split wing. "Not by my scans, he's not. He's not giving off any overt life signs that any instrument can pick up. If I tried scanning him again, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between him and a scrap heap."

"I couldn't tell the difference before," Vortex shrugged.

"Mute it, Vortex," Onslaught ordered darkly. "Why can't the scans pick up anything?"

"Because there's nothing _to_ pick up. Like I told you, he's basically dead."

Onslaught nodded grimly, though not understanding fully where this was going. He reached for a data pad that was scaling through the immense amount of data that had already been transferred to it. It was some of the most advanced equations he'd ever seen; they were astronomical. Nearly incomprehensible. The processing power it would have taken to develope a program like this... "What's this?"

"That would be the one thing I was able to get out of him," Blast Off replied. "It's what's keeping him... '_alive_'- if you could call it that."

"Primus, these codes, are they…?"

Vortex peered over his leader's shoulder, assessing the data. "An antivirus?"

"You mean an actual antivirus against an Alpha-class? Let me see!" Swindle dove for the data pad. He'd make a fortune off it if he could get his hands on it.

Onslaught lifted the pad away from his team mate's grasp, shunting him out of the way. "That's impossible. You mean to say that Starscream developed some form of antivirus against an Alpha-class?"

"He's 'alive', isn't he?" Blast Off replied. "From what I can gather, this is an extremely old program he's had for a long while, probably installed vorns before he even left Cybertron. It was designed specifically to counteract Virus's brand of viruses."

"Starscream's not the kind of mech to hide a discovery like that," Onslaught growled. "If he'd created an antivirus to vaccinate against an Alpha-class, he'd want to wallow in the glory."

"Maybe he was saving it for something," Swindle shrugged.

"I've never seen anything like it," Blast Off sighed. "It's not even designed to fight the virus. Instead, it's designed to allow it access to everything, even act as a catalyst to speed up the infection."

"That's probably the worst antivirus ever created, then," Vortex snorted.

"That's not even the strangest part," Blast Off intoned. "Once the virus has run its course and the infected mech is 'dead,' the antivirus begins to rebuild. It's as if the antivirus _memorized_ Starscream from the inside out and is _rebuilding_ him, data banks and all; it's even rerouted energy flows in his frame to keep his spark alive while it reconstructs everything else."

"You mean memories, thoughts- everything that's _lost_ once a virus corrupts them… this antivirus is restoring them?" Vortex asked incredulously. "It lets a mech _die_ and then it's programmed to bring him back to life? How is that even possible?"

Blast Off paused to consider, looking down at Starscream as if weighing the possibility of something that sounded so impossible. "It _is_ possible if the proof is laying right in front of us."

"Primus…" Swindle stared at Starscream in abject admiration. It was like the universe had just laid out a fortune for the taking on the berth before him.

Onslaught laid a careful hand on the Seeker's unmoving shoulder, patting hit reverently. "It seems our dear Starscream here has figured out a way to make himself 'immortal'."

Vortex hissed spitefully, glaring at the pitiful thing lying on the berth before him; a mere shadow of the mech the Seeker had been. "He can keep his immortality if that's what it gets him."

The _Double-cross_'s comms suddenly buzzed to life.

"_Swindle, you might want to report to the bridge right now," _Detour's voice intoned. He sounded unusually anxious.

"I'm kind of _busy_ at the moment!" Swindle replied.

"_I think you __**really**__ need to get up here,"_ Detour insisted.

"Is it a client?"

There was an awkward silence. _"…You could say that."_

"Who?"

"_Our 'special' client."_

Silence descended upon the med bay. Optics turned from one mech to the other, trying to decipher an answer to the question suddenly lingering on each of their processors. They only had one special client, and he never wanted to buy weapons from them.

Swindle nodded, even if Detour could not see. "Very well. I'll be right up to deal with him."

"_Please hurry." _

Swindle made for the door, Onslaught and Vortex slowly trailing in his wake.

"We'll come too," Onslaught said lowly. "I'm curious to see what he wants."

Vortex glanced back at Starscream's prone form as Blast Off trudged back to his side and began patching him up again. "It's never chance when he contacts us; it can't just be coincidence that we happen to stumble upon Starscream and suddenly have our friend coming to call."

* * *

Swindle was not a mercenary.

He was a dealer, a merchant, a seller of goods, a profiteer of illegal contraband. His ship was an oasis of weapons, a treasure trove of armoury, and, on occasion, a still for some of the finest illegal high-grade the universe has ever seen (bar Sideswipe's). He was paid for items already in his possession. And when someone needed something that he didn't have, the Combaticons had more than enough fire power to procure it.

When it came to this client though, Swindle had no choice but to bow to whatever was demanded. He paid well and called infrequently. Refusal was impossible, though, if a mech wanted to live to see the next orn. His methods of coercion could be quite brutal.

This mysterious client had appeared some time after Iacon's fall, a mysterious mech who spoke through pre-programmed drones and untraceable channels. The Autobots had given him the moniker "Mastermind," seeing as he was always several steps ahead of any game meant to capture him. He'd been on the loose for vorns, untouchable. He had every low-class merchant, thief, and mercenary at his beck and call. His orders were simple enough; he did not want weapons or any other illegal contraband.

He wanted mechs.

As Swindle eased into the captain's chair, Onslaught and Vortex sliding into the shadows flanking the entrance to the bridge, the programmed drone Mastermind had deigned to use today turned its blank gaze from Detour to Swindle. Detour practically melted out of his seat in relief; dealing with the Mastermind drones was more than a little trying. As per the usual customs when Mastermind came to call, Detour, Whisper, and Counterpunch, who had been working aimlessly away at another console in the shadows, slipped out.

Whisper glanced back as he trotted off for the bowels of the ship, safely hidden away in the rec room with a cube of energon. "Counterpunch, what are you doing?" he enquired to the dark mech as he hovered around the closed bridge door.

"I- ah, my- my polish is in there. Polisher for the away ships… I need it!" he squeaked.

Detoured rolled his optics. "You know how it is when those drones call. You're just going to have to wait until they're done dealing in there."

"Yeah- yeah, I know. I'll wait."

Detour and Whispered exchanged a glance and shrugged. Counterpunch was an odd ball on the _Double-cross_. He'd come along one orn practically begging for a place on the crew, but ever since then he'd been on his own, letting himself get kicked around by everyone, always on his own.

"Fine, suit yourself. Just don't get caught standing around there. If Onslaught or Vortex think you've been eavesdropping…" Whisper made an ominous gesture with his hand.

Counterpunch cringed. "I- I'll be careful."

* * *

"_Swindle, member of the gestalt team codenamed "Combaticons", captain of the Decepticon merchant ship _Double-cross_; confirm identity." _

By now used to the paranoid formalities that Mastermind had programmed into his mindless drones, Swindle transmitted his confirmation codes. The drone accepted and turned its dull gaze to Onslaught and Vortex.

"_Onslaught, leader of the gestalt team codenamed "Combaticon"; Vortex, member of the gestalt team codenamed "Combaticons"; confirm identities." _

They sent their confirmation codes.

"_Identities accepted." _

"What does your master have in mind for us now?" Swindle enquired, quick to get to the point.

"_The usual needed material; one live bot, healthy, undamaged, to be delivered at the specified coordinates transmitted at the end of this exchange." _

"Any preference in faction? Decepticon or Neutral?"

"_Autobot." _

Swindle paused for a moment, going over the stated faction. "The _Darksyde_ collects Autobots for your master- we gather the Decepticon material. Have you connected with the wrong ship?"

"_Negative. This drone was programmed to connect with the merchant ship _Double-cross_ and issue the request for live material from Autobot faction." _

Vortex chanced a glance with Onslaught, quirking an optic ridge. This certainly was an odd encounter. What was the reason for such the change up? The _Double-cross_ had always been contacted to collect either Decepticons or Neutrals; the _Darksyde_ dealt with Autobots, since that ship seemed to have a special way of dealing with them.

Onslaught opened a private channel between himself and Swindle. _"We have no choice but to accept."_ He transmitted. _"We shall see where this takes us."_

Swindle didn't chance looking back. Instead, he nodded firmly to the drone. "Very well. Send your master confirmation that we accept this contract. I assume that payment will be forwarded in the usual fashion?"

"_Affirmative."_ There was a pause as the drone transmitted the confirmation, and then its optic brightened as it received further information from its hidden master. _"The Decepticon Seeker Starscream is aboard your ship?" _

Immediately, the three mechs became wary. Swindle answered warily, "…Yes."

"_Dead?" _

While the three mechs were surprised by the question, they refused to show it. Again, Swindle answered, "Yes."

Technically, that wasn't a lie; Blast Off _had_ said Starscream was essentially dead to all his instruments.

"_See to it that his frame is destroyed. The master is in possession of the Nemesis and has gleaned all necessary information from it; Starscream is unnecessary excess." _

Apparently the drone's master didn't know about the valuable little antivirus that Starscream was harbouring.

"We'll see that he is removed from his ship as soon as possible," Swindle said. "In regards to our new assignment, is it possible to enlist the _Darksyde_'s help in procuring an Autobot? With all the recent activity you're master has been stirring up, security around any and all Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral factions has increased exponentially."

"_It is possible to enlist aid from_ _the _Darksyde." As per pre-instructions issued to it prior to its designated task of setting out for the _Double-cross_, the drone was equipped with the Beta-Zen coordinates for the wormhole the _Darksyde_ went through and several beacons to send to the _Double-cross_ for aid in contact in the event that they enquired about the other ship. Sending over the coordinates and launching the beacon package into space from its miniscule pod, the drone issued one last message.

"_With the acceptance of this contract, you are hereby notified that you will carry through with your end of the bargain or it is your own lives you put at risk. Collect up the needed material as quickly as possible. Do not try to contact the master. He will know when your task is complete and he was contact you. Our discussion is now terminated." _

The channel closed and the tiny pod on the view screen backed away slowly before detonating. The shockwave from the blast brushed against the _Double-cross_'s hull lightly, barely shaking it. The mechs within were hardly surprised by the explosion.

"This… certainly makes things interesting," Onslaught finally said.

Vortex glared at the screen as the debris from Mastermind's drone and pod dispersed. "It's a pain in the aft, you mean," he growled. "We have previous engagements, you know."

Swindle sagged. "I'm loosing business because of this."

Onslaught connected to the comms, summoning back the rest of crew. "Then we should get this over with as soon as possible."

"What of Starscream?" Vortex asked. "Are we going to 'destroy' him as our benefactor requests?"

The bridge's door suddenly hissed open and Counterpunch skittered in. He dove for the console he'd been working at and snatched the large container of polish that laid on the floor next to the seat. He stopped dead when he realized that all optics were on him.

Swindle tipped his head. "I only said I'd remove him from the ship," he said. "And I think we've found our volunteer for the garbage removal."

* * *

A bright orange fist collided with the helm station of the _Double-cross_'s away ship _Deceiver. _An impassioned spiel of curses filled the small bridge.

Nightbeat watched disinterestedly from over the view screen. _"Calm down, Punch." _

"Don't tell me to _calm down_, Nightbeat! Don't fragging tell me to _calm down_!" Another blazingly yellow-orange fist flew into the helm. "I just fragged up this whole mission!"

"_You didn't." _

Furious, self-deprecating optics flew to the other Autobot. "The pit I didn't! We've been waiting for _vorns_ for that mech to make contact with the _Double-cross! Vorns!_ We need to find out where he's taking all the kidnapping victims, but the instant our chance comes up, I'm sent away on a fragging sparkling-sitting mission with this piece of slag!" His arm flung out in a furious wave, gesturing to the secondary screen with Starscream's frame displayed on it, keeping track of his vitals as he laid unconscious in the other room of the ship. "How the pit do you think I _didn't_ screw this up?!"

"_At least you didn't blow your cover,"_ Nightbeat reasoned.

"Ha! Blown cover is better than another innocent bot getting carted off to Primus knows where to be tortured!"

"_We have no confirmation that victims are being tortured or killed. Our mission is to simply find where our 'Mastermind' is gathering these bots. We need your identity as Counterpunch to do so." _

Unable to formulate a response immediately, another fist struck home on the console, denting it lightly.

"_**Had **__you of blown your cover as Counterpunch, your position on that ship would have been compromised and there would be no hope of a second chance to find out where Mastermind lurks and why he wants all these mechs." _

"What am I going to do in the meantime?! Sit here and suck my own exhaust? You heard my report- they're looking for another Autobot for 'material' right this instant! Some innocent bot is going to get it and there's nothing I can do about it!"

"_There's nothing _you_ can do about it, but that doesn't mean _my_ resources are exhausted,"_ Nightbeat replied. _"I will follow the ship and see where it takes me. You stay with Starscream. If he ever manages to come to, interrogate him, but, for Primus' sake, don't kill him, Punch." _

"You know what this fragging piece of slag did to Arcee! What he made _me _do!"

"_I know you have your own personal vendetta against Starscream for what he did-,"_

"Then murder is justifiable in this case!"

"_**-But**__ Thundercracker and Skywarp have already been alerted to their Air Commander's status and if anything happened to him while in your care, those suspicions lay solely on your shoulders. We don't need that kind of attention."_

Growling venomously, Punch managed an acquiescing nod.

"_Fly Starscream to Chaar as per your original orders by Swindle. Try and get anything you can out of Starscream in the meantime. I will alert Ultra Magnus to this possible new lead in finding out who this 'Mastermind' is and we will do everything in our power to see that he is brought to justice." _

"Fine! Go!"

"_Very well." _

Punch grimaced, glancing up at Nightbeat. "Be careful not to get caught, alright?"

"_I always am."_ Nightbeat gifted his comrade with a ghost of a smile; he was always eager to solve the next big mystery, but he was never sloppy about it. He made a move to cut the channel, but he hesitated. _"And, Punch?"_

"What?"

"_What happened to Arcee… it wasn't your fault." _

Hissing furiously, Punch punched out the comms.


	9. Hound Awakens

_Mu-class virus- _as explained in _What Time We Have Left_, weaponized viruses are classified using the Greek alphabet in descending order of volatility. While Alpha-class is as bad as it gets, Mu-class is near the middle of the pecking order and is of only moderate concern.

_The French- _Part of my grade school education was mandatory core French classes, so I do have a remedial comprehension of the French language, although what I do have written has checked over by a Frenchie friend of mine who gave it the green light, so I'm not just pulling things out of my ass.

_3 ½ Days- _Okay, yeah, under normal circumstances, it would take a person about 4 to 5 days to drive from Nevada to Newfoundland (and that's pushing it), but seeing as Ironhide is a tyrant who seems morally against allowing humans their bathroom breaks and whatnot, he cut driving time down to a mere 3 days.

_Screech_- A very strong liquor that originally came from Jamaica; Newfoundland is famous for it. What Epps goes through is called "screeching"- which some Newfie bars do. It involves taking a shot of screech, kissing a cod on the mouth, and then saying the phrase "Long may your big jib draw."

Thanks goes out to all my wonderful reviewers of the last chapter- **Melora Maxwell, Jason M. Lee, Bunnylass, Daebereth, Violetlight, Flameshield, Chloo, Litahatchee, Silveriss, Misao-CG, Bluebird Soaring**, and **theshadowcat**! You people are what make writing this worth it!

Special thanks to **Litahatchee** for her wonderful beta-reading and pointing out all those pesky little mistakes I miss. You're the best, **Lita**!

This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend Tina, who is possibly the bravest woman I have ever known. She gladly took her shot of screech and stuck her tongue down a dead cod's throat (more than once, I might add), much to the horror of all her friends. If THAT isn't true bravery, I don't know what is! xD

**Warning: **This is the longest chapter I have ever written.

**As We Come Together  
In Which Hound Awakens **

"_Chase, it's been four days since anyone's seen you in town-" _

"Mmm-hmm." She half-listened as Josie spoke, balancing the phone under one ear as she expertly handled the peanut butter-covered knife across a piece of bread.

"_Are you sure you're okay?" _

Calloused hands paused, Chase's entire body leaning back to peer out the nearby window at the still unmoving metal body lying prostrate over the remains of her Jeep. Not once in four days had the thing moved, and Chase would know- she'd spent every moment of the four days watching the robot.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"_Has something happened over there? Like, after the meteor crashed or something?" _

Considering that a giant ass robot was now taking a catnap on the destroyed remains of her precious truck- "Yeah, you could say something happened."

"_Do you want one of us to come up there? I don't mind, and I know Chip's been worried about you-."_

Chase grimaced, tossing her dirtied knife into the sink and grabbing the jam jar off the counter, unscrewing the top and sloughing on a liberal amount of strawberry jam. "I'm _fine_," she drawled. "I don't need either you or Chip up here. I can handle myself just fine, you know that."

There was a pause over the phone, Josie trying to equate the response with a reasonable one of her own. _"If you're sure…"_

"I'm sure," Chase replied flatly, finishing her PB&J sandwich with a flourish and taking a bite out of it. When next she spoke, it was around a mouthful of half-masticated bread and condiments. "Look, you an' Chip got enough on your plates with that weird signal that tried to hack you guys a couple days ago. Leave me alone and focus on chasing down who ever the hell it was that did it, would you?"

Josie sighed and Chase could almost see her brow furrow. _"Yeah- those hackers…"_ she made a disgruntled noise. _"It's the weirdest thing… first the new UN firewall program comes out and is ordered to be installed everywhere-"_

"_-it's the Steven Hawking of all firewalls, Chase," _Chip suddenly cut in, revealing that he had been eavesdropping through a secondary line._ "I've never seen anything like it! The programming is immaculate; there's nothing else like it on Earth! It's years ahead of it's time! Lightyears, even!"_

"_Chip, get off the phone,. We've heard this all before," _Josie sighed. There was discontented mumbling in return until the second line was hung up. _"…Sorry, you know how he is." _

"Mmm-hmm," Chase hummed, rolling her eyes. She peered out the window again at her robotic guest, then shuffled to the fridge and snatched a can of beer, cracking it open and downing half.

"_Where was I… oh, yeah, just as we get it installed at Goose Bay and Gander, some hacker comes out of the blue and tries to get in. If it weren't for the firewall, he _would_ have gotten in. Coincidence, don't you think?" _

"Yeah, right. Freaky coincidence." Like the meteor that landed in her neighbour's backyard and the robot that was now laying in her yard.

"_Well… that aside, you're sure you're okay?" _

"I'm_ sure, _Josie_. _You're worse than Mikaela sometimes._"_ It wasn't like she couldn't handle herself against a twenty-five foot unconscious robot.

"_All right..." _She sighed a little. _"Jaye and Flint called, they got home safe and sound, you know." _

"Great to hear," Chase replied tightly, trying to wrap up the conversation. "Nice to know they're still alive. I _really_ have to get going now. I have things I have to do-" _Like guard Rip Van Winkle out there!_

"_Right, sure, sorry. I'll go now-," _Josie paused on the line, as if she were debating whether or not to say something. Finally, the awkward silence broke. _"Hey, Chase-?"_

"_Yes?" _Her voice was practically a hiss of annoyance.

"…_Just be careful, okay? There are some strange people in town that are asking around. They say they're astronomers, but I don't know…" _

"I'll keep on the look out, 'kay? I gotta go. Bye." Chase hung up and sagged with relief. She loved Josie and all, but long phone calls and four days without sleep didn't mix well. Steeling herself for yet another long day of staring at the impossible being that was now taking up residence on her truck, Chase gathered her sandwich and beer and made for the door.

"'Morning, Bob," she greeted flatly. While the sight of the metal being still sent a thrill of adrenaline through her, at least she'd calm down enough not to go into hysterics every time she laid eyes on it. It had been on the morning of the third day that she had named the thing 'Bob' for convenience, and since there had been no objections from the robot she'd kept the name.

Slouching over to the faded wooden picnic table sitting near the edge of the yard, Chase took her spot on top, kicking up her old shotgun and laying it across her lap. Stretching out unconcernedly, she continued to chow down on her sandwich and stare.

She chewed thoughtfully, eyes roaming to trace for the millionth time the lines and contours of the robot's alien design. It was amazingly intricate, way beyond anything she'd ever seen. It was beautiful, in a mechanical sort of way. She longed to run her hands over the immaculate seams between metal ridges, to get an up close look at utter mechanical perfection, but she didn't dare. Who knew what would happen to her if the thing woke up…

Instead, Chase tried for conversation.

"You know, Bob, you make one hell of a paper weight. Don't get me wrong, you're a _great _guest; dropping by unannounced, haven't said a word, haven't moved an inch in four days, and you've trashed my truck to shit. I truly, honestly think I've never had a _better_ guest!" She took a mouthful of beer in, washing down the sarcasm ruthlessly.

She fixed the robot with an accusatory stare. "I should have just let the cops have you, or maybe NASA… Hell, even the friggin' Men in Black would do, but _noooo,_ I had to play _good Samaritan_ and let you stay, for all the good it's done me so far. I haven't slept in four days and I got a wicked cramp going on in my neck thanks to you. I don't know how things work where you're from, but here, all that pretty much means You. Owe. Me." She popped the last bit of PB&J into her mouth, taking the time chewing to look over her robotic guest once more, mapping the handsome welding seams and eyeing the perfection that was the mechanics underneath. Hell, what use was her Engineering degree if it didn't tell her every inch of this thing was worth foaming at the mouth over, which only reminded Chase of another mechanic she knew might appreciate this-

"You know, if Mickey were here, my niece, she'd piss herself," Chase announced, and then paused, thinking of her niece. "But, on second thought, I can't decide if it would be happy piss or not- she's a big girl and all, but something like you…" she gestured grandly to Bob and his greatness, "I doubt she could handle it." She sighed and shrugged. "Maybe it's best she didn't come up with me this time, eh? I don't know _how_ I would introduce the two of you. Somehow "Mickey, this is Bob. Bob, this is Mickey," doesn't seem to be appropriate, not for something like you, at least…." Chase smiled self-deprecatingly. "God… I'm talking to giant pile of scrap metal."

The calming silence of the morning stretched on, gentle lapping from the nearby lake creating a steady ebb and flow of sound. The dawn mists were already evaporating, but shielded in the shade of the cottage, Chase and the robot remained in the last wisps of the cool vapour, clinging to them, leaving them damp.

Gathered in dim, glittering pools along the ground was the odd blue fluid that had been bleeding from the robot until recently. It added an uncharacteristic eeriness to the yard that Chase was unaccustomed to; the substance was too much like blood, and to see it all over her childhood yard left her unsettled. She had only dared touch the foreign substance once, receiving a shock through the steel toe of her boot, the rubber completely melted from the sole. After that, she kept her distance.

Neither she nor Bob had any idea how long they let their silence carry on, but it finally became too much.

"I definitely think it's time for some tunes. How about you, Bob?"

She took his silence as a 'yes'.

Busying herself with the old radio laying forgotten on the table, Chase failed to notice that Bob's optics had begun to glow.

* * *

'_Where… am I?' _

A dull ache throbbed in Hound's processor as he tried to establish his location, or at the least, determine his last known trajectory. _Information inaccessible_. Damn. He tried thinking back to his last moments of consciousness and found the data scrambled. That wasn't good. He attempted running a self-diagnostic; the information that came back was a little disconcerting. He'd been out for nearly an orn, but apparently he'd acquired a new alt mode during that time. Minor external damages had been repaired during trans-scanning, scratches and dents smoothed out, but gouges and concaved sections still remained. His internals were in worse shape. Self-repair programs were only running at 32 percent.

Lastly, data came back about the extent of the virus Worm hit him with; communications virus, Mu-class, only of moderate concern. Too difficult to remove on his own, but not harmful enough to kill him, the worse the infection could do was leave him stranded, wide open for attack. In coming and out going transmissions were cut off; he was mute- no way to call for help.

Well, thank Primus he wasn't dead, at least.

Not looking forward to the moment when he would have to move his aching frame, Hound decided it would be best to get his bearings first. Assessing the area, he was in a secluded region surrounded by woods on three sides and a fresh water lake on the forth. There was some form of miniscule shelter to his right and an abundance of metal parts spread out in a limited formation to his left. Somewhere near his feet was a single organic. His optics moved to focus, bringing into sight the slim back of a human female. She was also fiddling with a small device which was transmitting curious audible wavelengths-

"_Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir? Voulez vous coucher avec moi-?" _

Analyzing the verbal exchange being transmitted out of the device and comparing it to his vast list of Earth languages, Hound determined the language being spoken was French and the message being asked was, essentially, "_would you like to sleep with me tonight_?"

Pausing to run through every conceivable meaning behind such a question, Hound deemed that either the human race was a very bold one or the question being asked wasn't being directed at him. Seeing as the human female had settled back into a more stationary position, tossing away an empty can into an impressive pile of accumulated empties on the ground and taking up a firearm that was more quaint than dangerous, Hound decided to try to establish contact in the indicated language.

"_Bonjour." _

The surprised organic's head whipped up so fast she could have shattered one of her fragile vertebrae. Her dark gaze landed on him, realized he was looking back, and a strangled yelp split the air. She shot up, only to have her feet tangle clumsily. In a sprawl of graceless arms and legs, she landed hard on her chest and the weapon she was wielding went off, the bullet ricocheting into the woods.

"Fuck!" Chase scrambled to rise, dizzy from having the air knocked out of her, trying in vain to steady the muzzle of her shotgun.

Unsure of the human's reaction, Hound refrained from moving, but did keep his optics trained on her. _"Parlez-vous français?"_

For a moment, she nearly dropped her gun again. The giant, possibly alien, robot had finally woken up and spoke to her…_in_ _French_?! What the hell?! Taking a moment to remember her high school French, Chase collected herself and responded.

"Ah… oui?"

Delighted that he had a chance to interact with another human, this one much closer than the humans he'd spoken too last time, and speaking another language no less, Hound did his best to look friendly and non-threatening as he carried on.

"_Bon! Mon nom est Hound et je suis un organisme autonome robotique de la planète Cybertron._ _Je suis ravi de faire votre connaissance_._ " _

It took a few moments for the weight of the information to fully translate and process in Chase's slow, slightly ethanol-impaired, organic brain.

_Most_ of what the robot just said, in perfect French no less, Chase could understand in a limited fashion, right down to the fact that he was a giant alien robot named 'Hound' from some planet called 'Cybertron.' And, apparently, he was happy to meet her.

"Holy shit." This was the absolute _last time_ she ever had a drink before nine in the morning.

Hound paused, analyzing the short statement. Not French. "You speak English as well?"

"I speak better English than French," she replied warily. The alien had a perfect grasp of both English and French, and who knew what other languages, which begged the question- _where the hell did he learn them from?_ She seriously doubted the universe was really like all those Star Trek shows she'd watched where the aliens just happen to speak English too. In accordance with her guarded tone, her shotgun never lowered from its trained position. She had no intention of letting her Friendly Green Giant friend get not-so-friendly with her.

"My apologies, I simply assumed you spoke French."

"So does the rest of world."

Not knowing what the statement meant, Hound ignored it in favour trying to glean more information from the tense creature. "You would not by any chance be able to tell me where I am, would you?"

Tiny biological eyes flared wide, staring at him with a possible expression of incredulity. "You don't know _where _you are?"

"I have no idea what trajectory I was on when I landed and I have no access to any global positioning devices to help orientate myself." Thanks to that damn virus, he was incapable of connecting to even the most primitive of Earth devices, let alone sending out a distress call to his fellow Autobots.

"Okay, fine, fine- you're in, ah… Gander, Newfoundland- that's an island off the east side of Canada, northern part of the North American continent," and then, figuring that if he really WAS an alien, she might as well broaden the field a little more, "um… that's on Earth, part of the Milky Way galaxy. That enough for you?" Chase tried to hold her voice steady, curt even, even if she was terrified on the inside. She wished he would move his huge metal ass off the remains of her Jeep.

Hound analyzed both the vague coordinates and the tone in which they were delivered; the directions, when compared to his topographical maps of earth, told him he was no where near where he was supposed to be. The tone the human was using told him he was less than welcome in her presence.

"…Yes, I believe I can orientate myself from that." He kept the female in his sights, attempting to sit up slowly. It was a painful endeavour that had the machine beneath him shrieking in metal agony. The human grimaced, eyes narrowing. Hound returned the look with a pleading one of his own.

"Please, lower your firearm."

"_Right. _Like I would._" _

"I mean you no harm."

"Uh-huh, and I'm a two-inch tall fairy."

Despite the human's odd regards to her self, Hound continued to try assuring her of the fact that he meant no harm. "I am an Autobot, sworn to protect the innocent. There is no need for your firearm, human."

"Chase."

"…I beg your pardon? I have no intention of chasing you, either."

Chase rolled her eyes. "That's my name, stupid. Chase Banes."

"I see…"

Her dark eyes narrowed and Hound was given the distinct impression of a creature a lot more dangerous than what her size warranted her. "You gave me your name, so it's only fair I give you mine. It beats being called 'human.' But that doesn't mean I'm taking this gun off you. You understand?"

"Very well. I understand that you may not trust my presence given the circumstances in which we first encountered each other, but simply be aware that I mean you no harm."

He moved very slowly, nothing too sudden so as to set off the female watching him, one hand easing up to his side where he had been struck in battle. The armor was smooth and straight now, but the internal machinery within was still concaved. With a glance to the bold organic watching him, the scout moved to stand, but was impeded by a flash of pain and he fell to one knee.

Concern flitted across Chase's face and she vehemently quashed the urge to help him. The robot- _Hound_- may have looked like he was in a good amount of pain, but who knew how much pain she'd be in if she got any closer. With harsh eyes, she watched as her guest moved pitifully- scrapping his large, shaking hands along the ground to push himself back up, trying to claw at the back of his right leg.

Hound glanced to the glaring human with pained optics, and then tried to turn himself away. It was disconcerting the way she was staring, her quaint little gun still aimed for him. In moving the fraction to turn away, he jarred the knee and the damaged internal mechanics. He let out an unbidden keening noise, shuttering his optics as fire raced through his frame, crumbling him to the ground. Flocks of winged organic creatures were shaken from their roosts in the trees from the tremor.

"**Frag." **He cursed, falling into his native language.

Chase's head cocked to the side as she listened to the short, screechy burst of Cybertronian. It made her ears ring slightly. Watching the giant writhe on the ground reminded her too much of watching an injured animal squirm; concern was starting to override caution. "…You okay?"

It took a moment for Hound to realize that he was being addressed. "I believe something is lodged in my knee joint," he ground out, wishing he had enough mobility to twist and release the sharp object wedged in there.

"Take it out if it bothers you."

"I cannot. Damages I sustained in battle before I made planet fall are making it difficult to manoeuvre myself correctly in order remove the obstruction." He tried to stand again but made it only half way up before he collapsed once more.

"You were fighting before you landed here?" It was not lost on Hound that the human was beginning to move closer, the muzzle of her gun dropping a discreet inch.

"Yes. My kind-," he paused, consulting a file listed as Translated Cybertronian Terms, "'Transformers' as we are known in your language, have been waging a war amongst ourselves for a very long time. The two that attacked my ship were of the opposing faction- _Decepticons_; the enemies of the _Autobots_."

He could practically see the gears working in the little human's head as she tried to piece all the information together. "So… I take it you're an _Autobot_, then?"

"Yes," Hound replied firmly. "It is the creed of the Autobots to protect, which is why I mean you no harm." He did his best to not let an edge work its way into his voice, keeping calm and masking the throbbing pain that was working through his strained frame. To relieve himself of most of the pain, he worked to shut down some of his neutral relays, numbing affected areas.

"How convenient for one of the 'good guys' to show up in my backyard," Chase said flatly, rolling her eyes. "For all I know, you could be one of those, ah- _'Decepticons_' trying to gain my trust… or you could be feeding me a whack of backwards shit and the _'Autobots'_ are actually the bad guys. Who knows?"

Hound sighed, shaking his head. Were all humans this paranoid, or was he just lucky? Although, he could see where she was coming from; there was no reason for this little creature to trust him in any way, and he could give her little reason to assuage her suspicions beyond word of mouth or action. Since he'd tried word of mouth and failed, he tried for action, awkwardly easing back into kneeling position and reaching into his subspace carrier on his right leg, withdrawing a gun that was three times the size of the human glaring at him. He disarmed it quickly and dismantled it before her eyes, laying the pieces before her. He repeated the action for every other weapon he had on his person, including dismantling his own shoulder mount. Lastly, with a sharp _shik_ noise, the long blade positioned in his forearm slid out and he activated the unlocking sequence, removing it from his arm.

"There, I am unarmed. Does that do anything to reassure you?"

Chase whistled at the stockpile of dismantled weaponry. "You sure were packing some heat," she said. Her arms hesitated a moment, and then slowly dropped, finally taking the shotgun off of Hound. "But yeah… fair's fair." She set her gun down on the picnic table. "No sudden moves though, got it?"

"Understood."

As best as he could, Hound remained stationary as the human crept closer. She was the size of a short microbot, over 6 feet tall by Earth measurements, everything utterly biological about her right down to the set look of fierceness etched across her tiny features. Hound was a little surprised to realize that he could see a curiosity swimming in this "Chase's" eyes- she was curious about him, as he was of her, albeit she was far more wary of him.

Shying away from the drying pools of blue fluid that had gathered around the alien, her body so rigid that if she were to move too quickly she'd crack, Chase inched her way across her yard towards the green robot, coming within a daring twenty feet of him before beginning to circle around to his back. Those eerily glowing blue eyes never left her.

Music from the forgotten radio played on, causing a clash of normal and sci-fi realities in the small yard as Justin Timberlake's "Sexy Back" sung on and Chase continued to circle around the impossible robotic giant sitting in her yard.

"Your…" she paused, unusually unsure of herself, "your leg isn't the only thing hurt, is it?"

"No. There is a lot of internal damage as well."

"That blue stuff… it's like your blood, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It's called 'energon.' I would advise that you not touch it."

A bitter smirk quirked Chase's mouth. "I've already learned that lesson." She was sliding her way along the remains of her trashed Jeep now, avoiding coming into contact with the energon staining the vehicle's once immaculate black paintjob. From where she stood, Hound's right foot was barely more than five feet in front of her. Her dark eyes drew to the large, splintering object protruding from Hound's knee.

Hound craned his neck in order to see the human better. "What do you see?"

"There's a branch stuck in your leg," Chase replied. It was a large branch from a pine tree, resin crusted around the point of entry like puss from an infection.

Reluctant to impose on the human any more, it was after great deliberation that Hound asked, "Do you think you can dislodge it?"

Surprise shocked Chase's features, clearly not expecting such a request, and then she scrutinized the offending branch. "Maybe… It's in there good."

"Can you please try?"

"I-," Hound's face, what she could see of it anyways, was a mask of gentle imploring. Even though everything within her screamed that this was an unnatural being, a machine, an alien, a thing she should have run screaming from instead of towards four nights ago, that emotive face with those large, glowing eyes brought her up short, caught her off guard. She'd kept him safely hidden in her yard for the last four days, watching him but adamantly refusing to call in the authorities, and for what? Just so she could let him squirm in pain while she watched? He may have been a giant alien capable of squishing her at any given moment, but she wasn't a heartless bitch. "… I'll see what I can do."

When her hands connected with the smooth green armor, she was surprised to find it was warm. Without so much as a grunt of effort, Chase hoisted herself up onto the back of Hound's leg, inching towards the pine branch. A tremor ran through Hound.

"I'm not too heavy, am I?" she asked cautiously, stilling her movements.

"No. You are almost too light to feel, actually. I simply find it disconcerting that due to my damages, I am unable to keep track of your movements; it is like you are not there at all." As annoying as the Mu-class virus was, living without having access to his normal range of sensors was disturbing and undoubtedly dangerous.

"I'll keep talking so you know where I am," Chase consented, quite aware of how paranoid she herself was at the moment.

"That is very considerate of you."

Chase laughed. "You're lucky. I'm not very often." The branch was only an arm's length ahead of her. Thrilled awe tugged at her senses as she gazed at the machinery surrounding the tree branch; while her experience with repairing military-grade vehicles told her the damages to the joint were minimal, the fact that she was standing so close to this metal masterpiece from outer space never left her mind.

Hound shrugged, trying not to disturb his lower half as the human took hold of the branch. He attempted to make conversation. "I apologize about your vehicle. It seems I thoroughly crushed it."

"Meh, I'm still pretty pissed about that but there's nothing I can do about it now. You'll just owe me a new one." One firm jerk on the jutting branch caused a small spray of dammed up energon to fly out. She yelped and scrambled back.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, but _fuck_ that scared me," she sighed. "Looks like you might need a little welding done in here to stop the, um- _leaking_."

"That is unfortunate. I do not have proper welding equipment with me and I doubt a medic is nearby to do it for me."

"I know a thing or two about machines- nothing like you, but still," Chase shrugged nonchalantly, and then cursed herself fluently for making the offer. She was a damned Earth mechanic! She didn't know the first thing about welding super-awesome-giant-space-robots!

"Thank you for the offer, but, for now, please try to remove the branch."

"Sure." Taking another firm hold, she yanked again, this time eliciting a sharp hiss from Hound. He might not have been able to feel the sensation without his neural relays on, but the pressure was enough to cause discomfort. Ducking away from another energon spray, Chase repeated the action and managed to move the branch an inch.

"Perhaps if I straightened my leg a little?"

"That might help."

He straightened the limb carefully, hardly feeling as his tenuous ally crept along the plating to get a better footing.

"Okay, this might hurt a little-."

"I am ready."

The building pressure exploded sharply as the already loose branch was wrenched free. Finally free from hindrance, an involuntary spasm shook Hound, seizing his leg sharply. The offending object was tossed one way while Chase was thrown another, high into the air. Her shriek was sharp, alerting the scout to her distress.

Instinctively, Chase's eyes clamped shut, curling her body into a tight ball. The ground hit sooner than she expected, jarringly hard, rattling her teeth. It was almost as if she'd fallen into her own impact crater, the earth around her hard, curving around her, lukewarm though her thin shirt like Hound's metal had been…

"Chase Banes?"

Cracking her eyes open, Chase found herself staring over the metal palm of the alien who called himself Hound, straight into his wide, curious optics. She swallowed hard against the urge to scream. Thankfully, he drew his head away once he saw that she was alright.

"I did not mean to throw you like that," he said gently, clearly guilty for betraying the human's fragile trust.

"Well, you caught me, so we'll call it even." She pushed herself up in Hound's hand, glancing down to the ground not far below. "You okay now?"

"Yes, thanks to you. My self-repair programs should be able to take care of the rest."

"And the leaking?"

"I will shut down energon flow to the limb until it can be repaired."

"That's good." She was hesitant before speaking again. "How long will it take for you to heal-ah, repair, I mean? Are you going to be able to leave soon?"

Hound's faceplate fell dramatically. "I do not know."

"What about where you're supposed to be? Is there anyone to get a hold of to come and get you?"

Hound's expression darkened as he attempted to access the information. It appeared the crash corrupted some of his recent memories files. "I was supposed to land in a desert of some sort to the south, and there were humans like yourself involved-," he tried hard to form the designations from scrambled data, "but I cannot recall their designations at the moment."

"That's not much to go by," Chase pointed out. She briefly wondered when, during this whole ordeal, did she stop being suspicious of the metal giant and started listening to him like person.

"No, it is not. I do not even have the capability of sending out a signal to let them know I am alive." He sighed, shaking his head.

"I bet you'll figure something out," Chase said, glancing about herself at her house and yard. It wasn't much. She hoped she was not going to regret the words she was about to say. "In the mean time, at least you have a place to stay."

* * *

As Epps and Maggie quickly discovered, the town of Gander, Newfoundland was a world apart from the places they knew. While Mikaela had done her best to impart upon her two friends how life on the island was a little different than what they might expect, it had not prepared them fully for what they found. Not the cooler climate or the greener environment, not the small fishing town nor the hardy people that lived there. Ironhide had not been the only alien entering the town that late afternoon.

Sitting sprawled on a worn canvas chair in their small rented campsite, Epps turned his face to the clear, dark sky and sighed. "This is getting us nowhere."

"It's only been a day," Maggie soothed, perched carefully on the edge of Ironhide's bed as she watched her pot of water boil on the propane camping stove.

A three and a half day drive from the dry Nevadan desert to the damp, cool expanse of Newfoundland had _not_ been kind to the humans. Ironhide, unsurprisingly, was a tyrant when it came to travel, and any time either of his passengers had to relieve certain biological urges it was debate and brawl just to get him to pull over. Apparently he was under the impression that if he didn't need rest, neither did they.

Not even upon reaching the outskirts of Gander had there been rest for the weary; the Autobot had set his team immediately to work, first locating a campsite from where they could conduct their business, and then sending them straight into town to question the locals. From the late afternoon to late into the night, Epps and Maggie had been forced to troll along the desolate little town, increasingly resentful of the innocuous black truck that got to simply sit on the curb and do nothing.

"Nobody we questioned has seen or heard anything," Epps pressed, tired and exasperated.

"That is to be expected," Ironhide replied, his gravelly tones vibrating the cool, damp night. "Hound, if he is indeed here, is an accomplished scout. He wouldn't let himself be caught so easily, not even by my scans."

"Great. That makes my day, knowing that it might be damn well impossible to find the guy we're looking for." The tech sergeant did nothing to hide the irritation from his voice.

"Look on the bright side, Bobby," Maggie offered, smiling warmly, "at least the people here are really friendly."

"Too bad I can hardly understand them," Epps groused. It wasn't too bad with the younger crowd, but the older ones on the docks spoke fast and had such thick accents that he'd probably only caught four words out of the whole exchange.

"You will have to adapt if you want this mission to be successful," Ironhide growled.

Epps made a disgruntled sound, shifting restlessly in his chair. "Just so long as no one tries to get me to kiss a fish again."

"Ridiculous, nonsensical traditions," the mech huffed, clearly not impressed with the people here or their customs.

Maggie laughed, her eyes sparkling as she hopped down from her perch to collect up her water and mix herself a coffee, making a second for Epps. "Weren't you warned not to accept screech from any one?" she asked teasingly, humour lacing her voice.

Epps eyes darkened considerably. "I was trying to get information out of some of them; I didn't think you actually had to _kiss a fish_ to drink it!" In the end, he'd refused to kiss the dead cod's cold lips, like many 'tourists' before him, and he was slapped on the back by the surrounding Newfies nonetheless and brought into their lively conversations.

"What's on our agenda for tomorrow, other than avoiding hard liquor and fish?" Maggie asked.

"Tomorrow you will go to the Canadian Forces Base Gander to question them about the signal I detected earlier today, and then tomorrow night you go to the local gathering places to question them again over recent events," Ironhide instructed, laying out their itinerary.

"Yes, sir," Maggie replied lightly, handing Epps his coffee mug while nursing her own. "What about the people who live along Gander Lake?"

"We will question them the day after."

The analyst pursed her lips. "Mikaela's aunt included?"

"Yes, Chase Banes included."

"And you'll be quiet the entire time?" she asked pointedly.

"I am more than capable of making myself appear innocuous," Ironhide snorted, clearly offended.

"Like you were quiet about those guys coming over to check you out? I don't think they quite bought the whole car alarm bit when you were rocking back and forth on your axels," Maggie needled.

"They were getting too close."

"You're an impressive truck, Ironhide. They were simply admiring you." She sighed and took comfort in the warm mug cradled in her fingers. "If we don't want to draw attention to ourselves, you can't pull a stunt like that again. In small towns like this the news travels fast."

With a disgusted sigh, Ironhide sunk on his shocks. _"Fine."_

"I don't know _how_ Will's kept you secret from Sarah for so long," Epps commented, shaking his head disbelievingly.

"The barn is far enough away from the house that she does not overhear us."

"And she's never questioned the fact that Will simply brought you home one day for absolutely no good reason?" Maggie asked.

"She has enquired over the nature of how Will 'acquired' me, but he has managed to evade telling her the truth so far." Ironhide huffed a little, a light rev from his engine rattling the night. "I do not see the necessity of keeping his female ignorant to the situation, but apparently he does."

"He's just protecting her," Maggie reasoned. "He loves her; he'll tell her when the time is right."

"The time better come soon," the weapons specialist growled obstinately. "Their spawn keeps staring at me whenever Will brings her into the barn with him."

"Chill out on his 'spawn', Ironhide. Annabelle's only a few months old, she's got no idea what you're all about," Epps reassured.

"Just so long as Will and Sarah continue to transport the little creature around in their primary vehicle and they do not attempt placing that 'car seat' in me."

Maggie and Epps exchanged humoured glances, not daring to laugh out loud for fear of the mech transforming and shooting them.

A cool breeze blew through their lush campsite, rustling the green trees surrounding them. The deep shadows that laid over the night moved delicately in a swaying, lulling dance. Carried on the breeze was the smell of open water, present at all times in a place so close to the Atlantic. They were lucky enough to get a secluded campsite where no one would be able to overhear them if the Topkick started talking. Unfortunately, they weren't far enough away from other people to allow poor Ironhide to stretch his legs.

A yawn crept from Maggie. She stifled it and then stretched to ward off the looming exhaustion that hovered at the edge of her consciousness. "What about those who landed in the mountains?" she asked.

"As soon as our business is done here, we will head back to the main land for Labrador and make our way to the Torngat Mountains."

"Think the 'Cons will lay low that long?" Epps enquired darkly.

"I am not sure," Ironhide growled back. "There is no telling the movements of these 'Cons, but they have already made their first move by attempting to access the Canadian government's databanks through CFB Goose Bay. It was only by stroke of luck that the firewalls Ratchet developed in case of this kind of event actually worked. We haven't been in contact with our own species for so long I wouldn't be surprised if our own technology has been rendered obsolete compared to what has been developed in our absence."

"So the firewalls we gave the UN to distribute might be useless against the new 'Cons coming in?" Epps asked incredulously.

Ironhide sighed darkly, and even though he was in his alt mode, the humans could sense the deep frown emanating from him. "Quite possibly."

"Damn. Then what was the point of handing it out in the first place?"

"It offers better protection than anything your species could ever come up with," Ironhide said firmly. "Essentially, it is better than nothing."

Epps scrubbed his face with a hand, heaving an exasperated sigh. "Let's just hope the 'Cons don't try again any time soon."

"There is no promising they will not," the Topkick growled.

"Then let's just hope this doesn't turn into an international incident- the last thing I need is to have Simmons on my ass because a fight ended up on television." Epps pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled the short distance to the tent erected in the corner of the camp. He spared Maggie an enquiring look. "I'm getting some shut eye, you interested?"

"Yeah, coming." Finishing the last gulps of her coffee, the analyst set aside the mug and hopped over to the tent. "Night, Ironhide," she chirped.

"Good… night," the mech replied awkwardly. The tent zipped closed and Ironhide listened as the humans within shuffled about, getting into their recharging arrangements and dropping into recharge. Now the mech had roughly a little over a joor until the two came online again, he might as well keep himself up to date with his fellow Autobots. While there was no wifi signals to connect to near their camp, it was a trivial task to simply tap directly into the radio hub of the local radio station.

"_**Prime, Ironhide here." **_

"_**How goes the search, old friend?" **_Optimus warm voice asked, flowing steadily through the comm. link.

"_**We've found nothing yet," **_the old mech sighed.

"_**I'm sorry to hear that, but I still have my hopes. You have only been there a few joors, after all. How have Epps and Maggie been working for you?" **_

"_**They are adequate, in their own way," **_Ironhide reasoned. He wasn't the biggest fan of organics, but Will had been working on forcing the weapons specialist to grow a soft spot. _**"The 'Cons have made the first move, though." **_

"_**So I've heard. Simmons has been quite verbal about the near-breech." **_

"_**That man is an annoying amoeba." **_

"_**Regardless, I want you to remember yourself, Ironhide," **_Optimus warned. _**"Even if Virus is one of the 'Cons who landed, do everything in your power to prevent any incident. I know how difficult that might seem, knowing what she's done against you, but our anonymity is fragile right now, it cannot be put in further jeopardy because of some unfinished business you have with the enemy." **_

"_**She deserves whatever she gets," **_Ironhide growled darkly. Shoving his cannon down her gaping maw and letting loose some hot plasma sounded fitting.

"_**Please, Ironhide, try to control yourself," **_Optimus urged tiredly.

The old mech had no intentions of making promises he would never keep. Instead, he changed the subject. _**"How are Mirage and Smokescreen?" **_

"_**As good as can be expected," **_Optimus sighed. _**"It hasn't even been an orn yet, so we can't expect too much so soon, but Ratchet is doing all he can to accommodate the two. Their life signs have been holding out strong nonetheless."**_

"_**Good to hear." **_

"_**They may be online by the time you return," **_Optimus offered.

"_**Maybe, but I'm not betting on it," **_Ironhide replied gruffly.

"_**Is that all you were wondering about, Ironhide?" **_Optimus asked calmly, although the old weapons specialist could practically _see _the sparkle in his friend's optics.

"_**Yes. I was only curious of our comrade's status." **_

"_**They are not our only comrades, Ironhide," **_Optimus reminded lightly. _**"You were curious about William's status, as well." **_

"_**Your words, Prime, not mine." **_

Familiar, warm chuckling filled the comm. _**"There's nothing wrong with the friendship you've developed with the captain, Ironhide. We may be different species, but we are now sharing their planet, it's only fair we try and make friends." **_

Only a disgusted sigh came as the reply.

"_**If you must know, Will made it home just fine," **_Optimus informed, the grin in his voice obvious. _**"He was even enquiring about your status." **_

Ironhide sat silently for a while. _**"...thanks, Optimus." **_

"_**Anytime, Ironhide. Good luck with finding Hound." **_

"_**I'll find him, Prime. Don't worry." **_

"_**I have no doubt. See you when you return." **_

"_**Until then." **_

The channel closed and Ironhide was left to his own devices until dawn.

* * *

Within the span of the two Earth days since he'd awakened, Hound had been avidly studying Earth culture through the limited mediums he had around him. Mainly, he listened to the old, dilapidated radio that sat on the picnic table, or he crawled around to the side of his tenuous human ally's house to peek in the small window to watch 'television' while she did. He kept a comfortable distance, though- far enough away so that his keeper didn't feel overly threatened by him. While they may have struck an uneasy alliance two days ago, the human was still wary of him and her shotgun had become a constant accessory.

At the moment, Hound was attempting to adjust radio stations on the infernally small radio, hoping to spin the dial far enough with the very tip of his arm-sheathed blade in order to get it to the certain station that played a genre of music he found he liked. As he was quickly discovering, his blade was not meant for such delicate tasks, and the radio certainly was not meant to be prodded by the likes of him.

Close by, a door opened and swung closed again. Footsteps tromped closer, muted by the thick grass but clearly audible to him. An increasingly familiar figure appeared around the corner, toting her ever-present, and utterly useless against him, shotgun.

"The hell are you doing now, Hound?"

Drawing away from the miniature device, Hound let a small smile cross his faceplate, only to be matched with the permanently suspicious frown marring Chase's. "I was attempting to change radio stations, but it seems I am ill equipped to do so."

The human rolled her dark eyes and reluctantly made her way towards him. "What station?" she asked, sighing.

"I have grown fond of the country music genre. Can you please turn it to one of those?"

With a shrug, Chase reached out with her tiny fingers and fiddled with her radio until she found a country station that her alien guest might like. "There, happy?"

Hound paused to listen to the tunes now streaming from the speakers, enjoying the uniqueness of the sounds blending together, the unusual twang to the humans' voices. "Yes, thank you." He sat back carefully, mindful of the welded on patches of black metal along his leg and other various places on his frame. They were tender and the primitive weld job made them slightly irritating.

"Okay, I just came out here to tell you that I'm going to take a shower, alright? You know the drill, no wandering off, no breaking anything, no vaporizing my house, and, for God's sake, don't you _dare_ try looking in the window again!" She glared pointedly, still miffed over Hound's previous faux pas; all he'd wanted to do was carry on the conversation they'd been having. How was he to know that Earthlings preferred to clean in private?

Hound nodded and let the human return to her domicile. While Chase had relaxed to his presence somewhat since he'd awoken, she still retained a rigid stance against him. Even though she allowed him stay on her land and helped patch him up to the best of her ability, Chase refused to get any closer to him, to allow any further trust to build.

As he distantly kept an audio open, listening to the jaunty country tunes now drifting through the yard, the scout began to inch his way over to the small masking device he'd put together to hide his signature. It was far from perfect. It had a limited range, and if someone came by with powerful enough sensors, they'd find him easily. However, the ramshackle apparatus was the best he had at the moment, so he couldn't complain. All he could do was try to reinforce it here and there to make sure t stayed operational.

Now if only he could build a functioning communications transmitter to make up for his defunct one…

A shrill ring caught his attention, emanating from within the small cottage Chase inhabited. It was the alert the 'telephone' used when another human was trying to contact Chase.

Suddenly the hissing water in the bathroom trailed off and there was a mighty scramble for the thin articles of cloth that Chase donned as 'clothing'. Shortly after came her customary swearing and a stampede of feet over worn wooden floors. The moment the ringing stopped and Chase was barking through the mouthpiece at whatever creature who dared call, Hound turned his attentions to more interesting things- like the nearby trees and the creatures inhabiting them.

He lost track of how long he spent trying to coax a squirrel onto his large metal finger, only knowing that all his hard work was ruined when the cottage door swung open with a startling crack and a whirl of damp, panicked human came storming towards him.

"You gotta hide! Now!"

"Why? Sumthin' happenin'?"

Chase suddenly came skidding to a halt, taking a moment to assimilate the accent that marred Hound's normally perfect, unhindered words. "What, first you were French, now you're a _hick_?"

"Ah'm jus' experimen'in with Earth accents- Ah like this one."

Chase waved her hand violently. "Knock it off, would ya? This isn't the time! I just got a call from Josie and those 'astronomers' I told you about were just at her place. They're on their way here _right now_!"

Hound tensed, dropping all pretence of playing with his country accent. "How long before they get here?" he asked.

"Five minutes, tops!"

"Then there should be no problem hiding me," Hound assured.

"What do you mean-?"

With a grimace, Hound's frame began to shift and rearrange. Above the hauntingly alien melody that accompanied the transformation, a jarring screech of metal against metal raised the hairs along Chase's arms. He was still damaged and the effort it was costing Hound to transform was obvious. She watched in abject fascination as the bipedal shape she'd grown accustomed to suddenly morphed, limbs folding away, head disappearing, armor rearranging, his form suddenly hunkering down on four wheels.

"Oh my God…" as the last pieces of green armor slid into place, standing before her was a battered green replica of her treasured Jeep Gladiator. "So _that's_ why you're called a Transformer."

"Yes." Hound sounded mighty proud of himself for being able to trans-scan such a fine alt mode before he'd fallen on it. "This should suffice as a disguise."

A harsh snort came out through Chase's nose. "_A robot in disguise_? Ha!" She circled around him quickly, her fixed scowl deepening. "It ain't going to work, anyways. You might get away with the black patches as a bad weld job, but you still got that blue stuff dried to you- I can't explain that away if someone sees it."

"What do you propose I do?"

Chase's eyes darted about her yard, too aware of the count down going on in her head. Every moment that passed was a moment that the 'astronomers' got closer. She knew she shouldn't have been overreacting like she was, but adrenaline and the shot of brandy she had earlier were kicking in. Her eyes landed on the lake.

"Are you waterproof?"

Instantly, Hound caught on. "You want me to hide in the lake?"

"Got a better hiding spot, oh master of disguise?"

"I… no."

Gravel crunched under tires not far away.

"Get in the lake!" Chase ordered, going as far as attempting to shove the Jeep from behind.

The engine rumbled to life, the Jeep-slash-robot making his way slowly towards the blue stretch of cold, fresh water. Chase matched his pace, clutching her gun with white knuckles as the sound of the approaching unwelcomed guests grew louder.

"_Move faster!"_

"I sincerely hope I do not rust."

In some perfectly timed choreograph of the universe, Hound's roof disappeared below the surface just as a HUGE black truck trundled into the yard.

* * *

"Is that her?" Maggie whispered, leaning over discreetly to Epps.

"I'd say so," he nodded, eyeing the lone female standing rigid on the far side of the yard, nearest the lake. "Ironhide, you picking up anything here?"

"Nothing that my scans can detect. Unfortunately, knowing Hound, that does not mean much."

"Just means we still have to make nice with the locals," Epps sighed, already slipping out of Ironhide's cab. Despite Mikaela's warnings about her aunt ringing loud in his head, he put his best smile on. "Hello! Chase Banes?"

The woman tensed. "Who's asking?" she called. Her accent was clearly Newfoundlander, but less harsh than the others they'd encountered so far, probably from living with Mikaela off the island for so long.

"My name is Robert Epps. I'm an astronomer, and this is my associate, Maggie Madsen." Maggie slid out of Ironhide's cab in time to offer a friendly wave. "We heard that you were one of the people present when the meteor struck Chip and Josie's field and we hoped to ask you a couple of questions about it for some research we're doing."

"You're a long way from home just for questions," she replied, letting her gun rest against her shoulder, making her way up from the shore. "I heard you're all the way up from Nevada."

"Yes, that's right," Maggie nodded.

Chase's eyebrows shot up, recognizing Maggie's Aussie accent. "And apparently from down under, too."

Maggie's lips pressed together into a thin line.

Wary as a jungle cat, Chase prowled closer, utterly refusing to drop her weapon. "Wouldn't it have been easier to just call to ask your questions?"

"Maybe, but that's far less personal," Epps replied, keeping his voice even, genial. He'd had enough practice over the last few days to fake friendliness. "Besides, you could have hung up on us at any time. This way, it's a little harder to get rid of us."

"We'll see," Chase replied darkly. She was standing close enough now that Epps and Maggie could get a better picture of her- a rather tall woman, darker than her niece but looked eerily similar. Whereas Mikaela was still young and lithe, Chase appeared to be built from rougher hewn material, stronger beyond that of an average woman, her body hard worn from years of work. The haphazardly thrown on sports top and flannel shorts exposed the extensive patterns of tattoos that lay across her skin.

Epps sized the woman up warily, put off by the utter hostility in her harsh eyes. He glanced passed her at the receding ripples in the lake, then back at the woman and her gun. A sudden suspicious question crept into his mind and out his mouth, "What were you doing with that gun?"

She paused a step, glancing back at where Hound was hidden before scrutinizing the intruders, as if assessing what lie she could get away with. "Fishing."

"_Fishing_?" Epps questioned disbelievingly.

Those hard, dark eyes glared coldly. "That's how we do it up here." She took up a stance before them, clearly sending the message that they were not getting any further on to her property then where they were standing. "This is private property, you know. I don't like uninvited guests."

"We're sorry about the intrusion; we'll try not to impose long. We just wanted to ask a few simple questions."

"Ask now then _leave._" She needed to put on her best bitchiness act to get rid of them as soon as possible. There was no telling how long Hound could last under water.

Maggie cleared her throat nervously, laying a firm hand on Ironhide's door as he vibrated discreetly. "What were you doing at the time the meteor crashed?"

"Drinking on the beach."

"And after it crashed?"

"We all went to check it out. Damn thing exploded on impact though- nothing but a huge ass crater left."

Maggie hesitated before asking the next question, measuring herself against the other woman. "Did you… Did you see anything unusual around the crater, or hear anything usual after the crash?"

Something flashed across the woman's face. Recognition, perhaps? Ironhide definitely picked up an increase in heart rate. Beyond the raised levels of ethanol in her blood, he could detect adrenaline there too.

"No, nothing unusual," she ground out.

"_She's lying," _Ironhide growled in quiet tones. _"She knows something." _

Epps nodded discreetly, patting the Topkick on the side. "Are you sure you didn't see or hear anything unusual? Strange lights or noises?"

Instantly, Chase's back was up. "You're not really astronomers, are you?" she hissed. "I knew that was a load of bullshit."

Epps and Maggie exchanged alarmed glances.

"You're from Nevada, right? Area 51 and all that." She laughed derisively. "You're looking for little green men, aren't you?"

Trying desperately to salvage something from their ruined hoax of a conversation, Epps attempted a guilty smile a shrug. "You caught us," he sighed in mock-defeat. "We're just alien junkies looking for signs of intelligent life."

"You came to the wrong place to find it."

Maggie caught on to the new game quickly enough. She turned an imploring look to Chase. "You sure you haven't seen any little green men running around? Nothing to point us in the right direction?"

_Green_ yes, _little_- most definitely not. "Haven't seen a damn thing."

Seeing as this was a lost cause, Epps gave a hard nod, holding out a small square of paper with his cell number scribbled across it. "Alright then, but if you do see something-,"

The card was plucked from between his outstretched fingers, examined carefully. "I know, call. Fine. You can leave now. You might have better luck with the Fitzpatricks or the MacDonalds down the road. They're more into the alien hype than I am."

"Thank you for your time," Maggie said awkwardly, scrambling into Ironhide's passenger seat as Epps made a show of turning the ignition and backing away. Chase watched them balefully until they turned onto the main gravel road and disappeared.

Epps let out the irritated sigh he'd been hold in. "And here I thought Canadians were supposed to be _friendly_."

"Nothing is ever what it seems," Maggie pointed out, patting Ironhide's dash knowingly.

"As it stands, that Banes woman knows _something_," Ironhide rumbled. "She was lying to us the entire time."

"I'm with 'Hide. She was hiding something," Epps growled. "She sure as hell didn't like it when we asked about aliens."

"There's nothing we can do about it now," Maggie reasoned, shaking her head. "If she doesn't want to talk, we can't make her. Chase was our last possible lead, now all we can do is head out for mountains to check them out. We can't let the Decepticons lay to long in that area. After we're finished there, we can come back here and see what we can do about Chase and whatever she's hiding. It might turn out to be nothing. She might just be a really private person."

Ironhide's entire frame tensed, his seat belts tightening around his passengers ever so slightly. An ominous growl rattled through the dash.

"I do not believe many 'private people' on your planet would have energon spattered across their yard."

* * *

Once sure they were gone, Chase released the building tension in her body, slumping tiredly on her feet. There was no doubt in her mind that those people were looking for Hound, and she'd be damned if she let some Area 51 cronies take him. He was new to the planet and so far had proven he wasn't dangerous, he didn't deserve to be carted off to be experimented on.

Trotting back towards the shore, Chase set aside her weapon and waded into the water. Indifferent to the water's cool temperature seeping into her clothes and skin, she swam out to the deeper waters, circling a few times.

"Hound? You can come out now." She treaded for a few seconds, staring about. "Hound?"

Barely a few feet in front of her, the water bubbled and then a great head suddenly emerged, staring directly at her.

Suppressing the urge to scream, Chase coughed out the water that had been thrown into her mouth. "They're gone now- you can come out."

A solid surface suddenly came up beneath her and Chase found herself riding in Hound's hand as he stepped out of the lake. He fixed her with a concerned stare. "What did those people want?"

Scowling dourly, Chase motioned to Hound himself. "They wanted you."

"You did not tell them about me?"

"It was none of their business."

"Thank you for keeping my presence a secret."

"Yeah, well…" she shrugged. "No problem."

Hound limped carefully over to the cottage, easing himself down slowly and then setting Chase on the ground next to him. "Do you think they will return?"

"Oh, I've seen the alien movies, I know how this shit works- they'll be back, and they won't be nice about it when they return." She crossed her arms and looked about herself, weighing her options. There was one possibility, if only Hound-, "Are you okay to drive in truck-mode?"

"Yes, I believe so, although I have no navigational systems to guide me."

"I know where I'm going," Chase replied. "I think it's time we left, you and me. I'm taking care of my niece in a town called Tranquility. It's in Nevada, but they don't know I live there. You might be safer there, that is… as long as you're okay with living in a shed."

Hound smiled, amused by the offer. "I will be fine. I have survived conditions much worse than a shed."


	10. Commemorated

Major, hufe, Godzilla-sized thank you go out to all my wonderful, amazing, dear, beautiful, awe-inspiring readers. The reviews you all left for chapter 9 blew me away! I swear my heart was singing every time I read one of your reviews! I will never be able to convey in words the full force of the gratitude I feel, but I wish you all to know that you have my sincerest thanks! Thank you **Elita One, Library Drone SAR, Flameshield, Lil Angel, Daebereth, Jason M. Lee, Bluebird Soaring, Liliwen, theshadowcat, Cassiopeia1979, Bunnylass, Freakish Child, Melora Maxwell, Chloo**, and **Litahatchee!**

Credit for Nightshade the character goes to **Violetlight**! And I am using her portrayal of Waspinator as a symbiote, too. Big thanks to **Violet**!

Finally, the chapter that skyrocket's my rating from T to M! Enjoy!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Reunions are Commemorated **

"What do you mean '_they're not there'_? Epps if this is some kind of sick joke-,"

"_No joke, Sam,"_ Epps sighed, shivering as a cold wind rustled over the snow at his feet, swirling it around his slowly freezing body. The Torngat Mountains were one of the last places on Earth where ancient glaciers still existed, much to Epps and Maggie's utter horror. Snow simply was _not_ their thing, but they happened to be standing in a foot's worth of the white stuff.

Sitting in the wonderfully temperature-regulated command centre of the Autobot Base in the middle of the hot, dry Nevada desert, Sam cursed darkly. "Any idea where they could have gone?"

"_It's only guess work right now, but we do have a rough idea where they could be heading,"_ Epps replied.

"That's good, isn't it?" Sam asked, not liking the sombre tone in the tech sergeant's voice. He leaned closer to the transceiver panel of the Cybertronian communications device Ratchet had set up to enable him to speak with Epps.

"_Don't bet on it_."

"Why? Where do you think they're going?"

"_Ironhide reviewed the information they were able to grab from the Canadian military's databanks before they got spooked by the firewall- it was coordinates." _

A sick, twisting feeling started to squirm in Sam's stomach. He had to swallow hard before speaking again. "Coordinates to _where_, exactly?"

"_Tracking coordinates to where a small fleet from the US Navy gathered off the east coast a couple of months ago-,"_

"You don't mean-?"

"_Over the Laurentian Abyss." _

"_Shit. _Are you serious?_" _Sam's gaze darted over to Optimus, who was speaking with Ironhide in their rapid-fire, mile-a-minute, electronic language of theirs. Judging from the Autobot's stance, he was not happy with what Ironhide was telling him either.

"_Oh hell yeah, I am_," Epps growled back. _"And we can't go after them for a few days, either." _

"Why not?"

"_Clean up." _The words came out as a distasteful growl. _"Our 'Con friends left their fair share of a mess behind." _

"How bad?"

"_Bad."_ Epps shrugged his jacket closer to himself, and then glanced to Maggie to see how she was fairing. Wrapped tight in a down jacket and a toque pulled low over her ears, she was shivering as discreetly as possible. Her soft grey eyes darted up to meet Epps' dark gaze, and then started when he reached out and dragged her closer to share a little bit of body warmth. She raised her eyebrow and he shrugged in reply; better to remain lukewarm together than freeze apart. He continued his conversation as if neither of them had lost feeling in their outer most extremities. _"Might be bad enough to get involved with the government up here; there may be too many deaths to just say it was a bear attack or an avalanche." _

Sam winced, drumming his fingers distractedly. While it had been at the behest of Secretary Keller to introduce Optimus Prime and company to the UN in order to make sure the rest of the world's powers didn't think the US was stockpiling walking weapons of mass destruction, there were some who took the news better than others. While Canada had been most accepting of the situation, even proposing to speak with the military in order to form a small sect to have in the know in case their aid was ever needed, other delegates were a little more wary, seeing Optimus's choice to stay and gather his kind in the US as dangerous to them. Sam had been with Bumblebee during the meetings, on the _other_ side of the large, metal warehouse door- but even through the reinforced metal, they could still hear raised voices ringing off the rafters.

"Do we have any other options?" Sam asked warily. He wracked his brain trying to recall everything about the UN discussions, shouted words or otherwise. Was there any way they could call upon another nation's services without having a dozen others declare war? Fighting an alien war was enough; to hell with fighting humans too.

Maggie's gentle accent drifted over the channel, surprising Sam a little. He hadn't known she was so close. _"Sam, is Simmons nearby?"_

"He's lurking here somewhere."

"_Can you go and get him? I think he might be our other option." _

Sam groaned. "Does he have to be?"

"_As much as we all hate to admit it, Sam, he's the only one of us who knows how to conduct a cover up, and we need one here __**desperately,**_" Maggie sighed, looking back over her shoulder to the pass in the distance spattered bright, macabre red around the crushed trucks piled there. The bodies there had been crushed, possibly stepped on, and a few looked as if they'd been shredded apart by a very large animal. Their recording equipment had been destroyed.

"Fine, alright, I'll get him. Give me a sec." He hopped away from the panel he was seated at, moving to the nearby on-base comms and expertly turning them on as he'd been taught by Ratchet and ordering Simmons to report to the command center. Not wishing to stick around when the pissy agent reared his head, he'd been getting more and more unmanageable ever since both Will and Epps had left, Sam quickly bid his goodbyes to his slowly freezing friends up North and scrambled down from the station along the ladder built into the side.

As he passed Optimus's foot, he gave the big guy a good pat on the toe. In return, the mech offered a brief nod but continued on with the conversation he was conducting with his weapons specialist.

"**This is not good news if what you say turns out to be true," **Optimus sighed.

Ironhide grunted, feet sifting through the blackened craters marring the perfect snow. While he couldn't make a positive identification on the large bipedal footprints alone, the set of quadruped tracks leading away from the large depression in the snow, denoting a ship landing, all but screamed the identity of the bot.

"_**Virus is up here somewhere, Optimus. There's no doubt about it." **_

The flame-painted mech gave a breezy sigh, sagging a little. **"It is certainly not in our best interest to have her on Earth." **

"_**It is not in anyone's best interest to have any Decepticon loose on Earth," **_Ironhide replied darkly. "_**And I doubt that fragger would come down here for anyone less than her accomplices Worm and Trojan, so we know of at least three that are lurking on Earth." **_

"**Alone, any one of them could be dangerous, but together…" **

"_**I'm well aware what any one of them is capable of, Prime," **_the weapons specialist growled, sounding dangerous and far more like the grizzled warrior he was. _**"I'll bet they're following the coordinates they stole to find Megatron's corpse." **_

"**They're not going to be discreet in their search at all." **Optimus's voice carried a pained edged to it.

"_**They haven't bothered being discreet thus far, so I doubt discretion is on their agenda at all,"**_Ironhide pointed out gruffly, sending along the video files of the area and the accumulated damages.

"**If they are not caught soon, all the work that has been put into covering up our presence on this planet will be undone and who knows the repercussions that will follow," **Optimus warned. **"We may be able to contact the Canadian government to aid us in keeping the exposure to a bare minimum, but if the Decepticons are allowed to roam free for too long…" **

"_**Don't worry, Optimus. They're not getting away from me that easily,"**_Ironhide replied. **"**_**If they are going for Megatron's remains, the coast they will be flying over is sparsely populated. There's only a low calculated risk of being seen."**_

"**I hope you mean that as a reassurance unto me and not as odds in your favour to engage them in a fight," **Optimus said darkly.

"_**Ah…" **_

"**Never mind. I trust you to use your best judgement if the situation arises. **_**Try**_** to be discreet, but do not allow yourself to become a sitting target." **

"_**I have no intention of becoming anyone's target, nor of letting any of my…"**_the mech trailed off to stare at the humans not far away, huddled together for warmth, shouting into the enhanced cell phone at whomever they were arguing with, **"**_**My**_** team **_**become targets."**_

"**Very well, do as you see fit." **

Ironhide's gaze turned to the overcast sky. Deep grey, heavy clouds were gathering thickly overhead. _**"The weather here seems to be on our side**_**," **he noted. _**"The clouds are at a low enough altitude that, even if they were in a large ship, no one would be able to see a damn thing from the ground. There is also a high possibility of severe storms hitting the area as well, making landing any ship difficult."**_

"**At least that much is on our side. I cannot say much else is at this point." **As much as Optimus would have loved to unload a bit of the burden he was carrying onto the steady shoulders of his friend, he knew that Ironhide had his own problems to deal with at the moment. So he stayed silent, absently listening to the goings on in the command centre, Simmons' voice in the background barking about thousands of dollars worth of time and manpower to send a team up to the middle of nowhere. If ever there was as organic that tried Optimus's patience badly enough to forget all life was precious…

Determined not to step on Simmons, Optimus opted to change to subject. **"So you say you found where Hound could possibly be hiding?"**

"_**I'm not saying that he is there, but there is the strong possibility that he is taking refuge in the Ganger area,"**_Ironhide confirmed. _**"Presumably within range of the dwellings built near the lake." **_

"**I'm surprised you did not investigate further the instant you caught wind of him hiding there." **

"_**I saw energon spattered in one of the yards of the humans we questioned, but it wasn't enough to be fatal,"**_ Ironhide replied. _**"It's only been an orn since he crashed, and I doubt he'd be hiding half as well as he is if he was severely injured. Tracking the Decepticons down and getting them under control before something more public happens is more important at the moment. I have no doubt Hound will be fine for another orn."**_

"**That's incredibly perceptive of you, Ironhide," **Optimus chuckled.

"_**That's not all, Prime,"**_the old mech snorted. _**"I have the sneaking suspicion that Hound isn't alone in all this. He may have made an ally for himself out of one of the humans in the area." **_

"**Oh? What makes you say that?"**

"_**Because Chase Banes is either a pathological liar or she had something very big to hide when we questioned her." **_

"**Banes? Well, that certainly **_**does**_** make things more interesting…" **Optimus replied shrewdly, suddenly catching Mikaela and Sam's voices drawing near as Simmons' barking came to an all time high. He watched as the two teenagers rushed in and darted up the ladder, running for Simmons. Sam easily took the lead, outpacing his girlfriend with surprising speed and, showing more initiative than normal, cut Simmons' ranting off with a good shove.

Mikaela wormed her way in as the two males squared off, saying something quick and quiet to Epps and Maggie before closing the communications channel and turning to help Sam fend off the wrath of Reginald Simmons.

"**Keep me informed of any new developments, Ironhide. Stay in the area with Epps and Maggie to waylay any other humans who might wander into the valley until the team Simmons sends up arrives. For now, I believe I'm needed elsewhere before someone ends up in the med bay-" **

"_**Optimus?" **_

There was a certain smile in Optimus' voice when he spoke next. **"In the absence of both William Lennox and Robert Epps, it seems Sam has been attempting to fill their roles both in duty and in keeping Simmons in line." **

"_**Quite the task," **_Ironhide conceded.

"**He has been doing surprisingly well," **Optimus informed. **"I believe our presence may have facilitated him to mature a little faster than he may have done otherwise." **

"_**War has a way of doing that," **_the weapons specialist replied sagely.

"**I am simply surprised that Sam has risen to the occasion so profoundly," **Optimus confided. So much like a yellow minibot he knew…

"_**The youngling deserves more credit than he's given,"**_ Ironhide laughed gruffly. After what Sam had done for them, protecting the Allspark, destroying Megatron, he was one of the few organics that had Ironhide's hard earned respect, not to mention the respect of many others, robotic or otherwise, on base. Sam being Sam, he still remained a little clueless to the idea of him being a hero- he reserved that right for the towering gun-toting alien robots or the hardened human soliders around him.

"**You will hear no argument from me, my friend, but there are some here," **he paused to allow agent Simmons' voice to drift through the comm., **"who would most abhorrently object." **

Ironhide huffed a curse, grumbling foully. He bid his goodbyes to Optimus, receiving his Commander's parting words with a grunt, and then the channel closed. Hoping that interceding between an alien species' own internal conflicts would not affect him in the long run, Optimus quickly reached out to place his large hand between the teens and the agent, successfully cutting them off from each other.

"Enough." The order reverberated in the air, enough to cease the humans' squabbles. Optimus's gaze landed on Simmons first. "Agent Simmons, your services here are no longer needed. If you would please leave the command center and find something else to occupy your time, it would be _much_ appreciated."

Looking as if a nasty retort was on the tip of his tongue, Optimus's gaze narrowed and the agent relented. "Fine, I'm going." He marched out, but not without Optimus's sharp audio receptors catching darkly muttered words- _"ridiculous…playing favourites…" _He disappeared down the ladder and out the door, allowing the remaining three in the command center to breath a sigh of relief. Optimus let his arm drop back to his side.

Sam huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. _"Prick." _He tipped his head to look up at the towering Autobot looming above him. "You know, Optimus, if you ever wanted to step on that guy, you got yourself an alibi."

Chuckling, Optimus nodded. "I will keep that in mind."

He paused to consider the pair of young humans staring up at him, their eyes squinted slightly as they tipped their heads back to stare into his faceplate. Their expressions were open, unguarded, the fear and awe that had haunted their features for the first few weeks after being introduced to an alien species and the intergalactic war that followed now eased into a level of semi-comfort and vague understanding. Even the human personnel on base had slowly stopped staring and edging around when they saw an Autobot coming through, which made it infinitely easier when anyone was trying to get work done. Only four short Earth months had passed since this strange, organic planet had been introduced to a world beyond their own and already they were adjusting quite nicely; it gave Optimus hope that he might have actually found a new home for him and his people.

Unaware of Optimus's internal musings, Sam laughed and shifted himself about so that he would have an easier time talking with Optimus; despite how much closer their heights were standing on the alien console, Sam was still tiny compared to the massive mech.

"You know what else you could keep in mind; how to get rid of him. He's getting harder and harder to deal with everyday," Sam said, nodding his head in the direction that Simmons left in. "I swear, one of these days, if you don't step on him first…"

Optimus allowed a gentle smile to play at his mouthplates, amused by Sam's awkward attempts to seem older than he was. He was not quite a human adult yet, but one could hardly consider him a youngling any longer. The precarious balance reminded the Commander too much of Bumblebee again.

"Something tells me we will have to keep a closer eye on Agent Simmons in the future," Optimus sighed.

Sam's smiling face faded a fraction. "Yeah, he hasn't exactly been making any friends around here," he conceded. "Will had to move him and a number of the other S7 guys to a separate part of the barracks because they kept stirring things up." The lights overhead caught his face, deepening the shadows beneath the young man's eyes; a testament to the peace treaty he'd been attempting to facilitate between the two warring human factions within the week and half he'd been "camping" on base. Regardless, Sam's charming smile remained firmly in place, his arm quite happily draped around Mikaela's waist.

"I hope you are not overtaxing yourself," Optimus voiced, his mouthplates quirking slightly.

Sam saw the small smile and it heartened him. "Nah, I'm fine," he assured with a dismissive wave. "It's been… _interesting,_ you know, playing mediator and all."

"I will take your word for it," Optimus replied. He glanced to Mikaela to engage her in the conversation as well. Contrasting Sam's surprising case of adultness, Mikaela was looking a little pale beneath her warm tan, her normally beautiful face appearing drawn. Microscopic traces of tension quivered in the muscles of her face, something only Optimus's sensitive optics could pick up, and the reason for the distress piqued his curiosity.

"Is something the matter, Mikaela?"

She shook her head, forcing a smile. "It's nothing," she replied a little too quickly, and then amended herself, "Well… nothing that would interest you, anyways..." Optimus noted the way Sam's hand tightened fractionally.

"Please, indulge me," the mech invited.

"Well…" She gave him a measuring look, trying to decide if it was right to unload her concerns on the mech's shoulders or if telling Sam had been enough. In the end, Optimus's patient gaze won out. "My aunt just called on my cell a couple of minutes ago," she began, her gaze dropping a little. "She's about half way home, but she sounded a little strange… more irritable than usual, I guess. I wouldn't think she'd be stupid enough to drink and drive or anything, but how she's been lately, I just don't know…" Mikaela's body leaned into the comfort of Sam's slightly taller frame, seemingly embarrassed comparing her tiny problems to Optimus's obviously bigger problems. "I'd feel better if I was home to wait for her, just to make sure she makes it home at all."

Optimus nodded, finding that, opposed to Mikaela's opinion that he wouldn't be interested, the news that Chase Banes was now on her way home was of the utmost interest to him. She was, after all, either a pathological liar or an unwitting ally.

Sam nodded along. "Yeah, my folks want me home too- school's going to start in two days and I've done nothing to get ready. Mom hasn't said anything when she calls, but I can hear her teeth grating together every time she talks." He shrugged a carefree shrug, smiling with a dopey smile. "No place like home and all that."

"Very well, Bumblebee will escort you home." He hesitated before saying anything more, but it was too much of a coincidence that Mikaela's aunt was returning so soon after Ironhide and company paid her a visit. He would have to inform Ironhide of the possibility that Hound may not be in the area any longer, but in the meantime, "Mikaela, I would advise you to keep aware of your aunt's movements for now-,"

Her face immediately paled further, taking on a sickly quality. "Oh God, has something happened?"

"No, I doubt something has happened to her in the span of time you last spoke to her until now-," just in case, he scanned the air waves, finding nothing.

"Then- do you mean she might be in some sort of danger?" The drawn look on Mikaela's face intensified. While Optimus knew very little of human family dynamics, he did know that some things were universal, such as concern for someone you cared about.

"No, nothing we can draw direct conclusions from, not at the moment," Optimus replied calmly. "I am only suggesting that you keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual just in case."

"Right…" Mikaela seemed a little more ill at ease than before but refrained from asking more. Her body leaned a little more heavily against Sam's. "Sure, no problem, I'll keep an eye open. It's not like she goes far anyways; work, bar, shed, couch, that's pretty much her schedule."

"I'll help keep an eye on her, too," Sam offered. "You know, stay over a few nights and all." He winked to Mikaela, who had the decency to smile a little.

Disregarding the increased pheromone levels his sensors were picking up, Optimus connected with Bumblebee and alerted him to meet his charges in his quarters, to escort them home when they were ready.

* * *

_Horrible, awful, stubborn, sparkless aft! _

For the hundredth time, Nightshade paced the _Darksyde_ on the near verge of a panic attack. She'd spent mindless joors attempting to repair the dilapidated ship, but the endeavour had been entirely fruitless. The ship had been a scrap heap before the fight; now it wasn't even worth the energy it took to turn on a welding torch. If the fragging thing fell apart, so be it.

Worst of all, her attempt at repairs had done nothing to take her mind off of what had been taken from her: _Waspinator_.

At the thought, Nightshade hissed, spinning to slam her fist into the nearby wall.

It'd only been an orn since they'd jumped ship, but it'd been a _long_ orn. Not even a single message, a tiny _note_, to let her know if they even made it to the surface okay! Complete and utter silence! And that wasn't even the worst part! Oh no, she was used to radio silence, trained for it even! No, the worst part was the fact that her mentor had taken off with that other femme AND had taken Waspinator with them! _Her_ Waspinator! The little symbiote that had been gifted to her by Soundwave himself after vorns of loyal service to him!

Soundwave, better than anyone, should know how painful it was to sever a contract with a symbiote! How dare he do that to her! That two-faced, hypocritical, backstabbing-!

"_Fragger!" _

Now all she could do was seethe angrily, alone on the broken _Darksyde_, pacing the ship endlessly with nothing else to do but wait for someone to damn well try and contact her. Just like every other time they left her to her own devices on the _Darksyde_. Every time a deal went down off ship, she was left behind to play the part of a Primus-damned sparkling-sitter for the heap of rusted junk! It was a ridiculous game, pretending that she was still a helpless young bot barely formatted into her adult frame; the orn had _long_ since passed when she could have graduated from Soundwave's tutelage. She was easily as formidable as he was; the only reason she stayed and continued the charade was loyalty! Yet her master and the crew of the _Darksyde_ treated her as if she couldn't take care of herself out in the big bad universe!

"-Treat me like a youngling! Taking Waspinator away like that! Frag it all!"

She refused to acknowledge the fact that she was undeniably acting like a youngling at present.

Her claws sliced through the dull plating of the corridor as she marched along, dragging her hand along, ripping a wide seam in the metal.

She damn well hoped Soundwave and Flamewar found who they were looking for soon before she tore the ship apart waiting for them!

* * *

Everything about the ominously circling SR-71 Blackbird above Tranquility radiated danger.

It circled like a vulture; like death. It was watching, waiting…

Far below, streaking along the paved roads of the organic planet, was a growling black shadow, low to the ground, sleek as a panther, and ten times more dangerous. The Blackbird high above traced the curving, lightning quick path of the car as it raced through the streets, keeping pace before shuttling ahead and then falling back once more to always stay close, to always be near for when the car below found what they were looking for. They kept their dance through the hours of the approaching dusk, and then well into the night, circling Tranquility several times; mapping it, _memorizing_ it.

The hour grew so late that only few humans were left milling the streets. Those who were up were ignorant to the dangers they faced as they whistled and howled as the expensive, once-in-a-life-time, embodiment of automotive beauty zoomed by. There was no comprehension dawning in any of their tiny, organic brains that they were only a curb away from death incarnate.

It was too dark to notice that the black Pagani Zonda F that just screeched by was _driverless_.

It was gone too fast to see the Decepticon decal glinting malignantly on the spoiler.

They never even dreamed to glance up at the silent gliding watcher above, ominous as a storm cloud but carrying far more deadly ammunition than just rain and thunder.

Too bad taking a picture of the odd pair, the Pagani and the Blackbird, were virtually impossible. Not when a blanket of electromagnetic interference settled so suddenly over sleepy Tranquility, strangely radiating out from the sleek, gliding jet, rendering all electrical devices in the town utterly useless.

For the residents of Tranquility, it was an inconvenience they brushed off as yahoos at the electrical plant screwing with maintenance procedures, even though everything _else_ electromagnetic and yet not dependant on a wall source was also mysteriously out. That ruffled a few feathers, causing a due stir amongst the humans who were not sleepy enough to be in bed or content enough with the doldrums of their quiet lives to not care otherwise. Some in Tranquility, alert and more curious than anything, found the mystery intriguing.

One human, in particular, took this strange occurrence as a _sign_…

Tossing his dead cell phone aside, giving into the fact that trying to text someone was out of the question, he scrambled out of his dim room, lit by only the yellowed light from the streetlights. A huge dog barrelled up the hallway, round eyes catching in brief lifts of light, but the human swerved expertly, avoiding potentially being crushed to death underneath the drooling monster. With a swift tug to the pull that dangled a short ways from the ceiling, a ladder crashed down from the attic above, leading into the cavern-like expanse above. He fumbled through the blackness until he made it to a hatch on the other side that opened onto the roof. Forcing the reluctant lock to yield and throwing open the sacred passage to his sky-watching nerd-roost, the human spilled out onto the narrow way and flailed for his telescope- thankfully the one device in his entire house that still worked.

Swinging it to the sky, he searched for God only knew what; bright lights? Flying saucers? A huge neon sign announcing "WE COME IN PEACE"?

Even with the sky so dim, the silvery light of the quarter moon cast a bright enough glow to illuminate the night in a limited fashion. A few clouds helped to bounce the light, casting the fluffy white nimbuses into arrays of silvers and whites that lit the sky.

Out on the street, a snarling growl overtook the night as a car that screamed sex, drugs and rock'n'roll came careening around the corner. In a flash of headlights, it screeched up the short road, swinging around the far corner and then was gone. Breath stolen a little by the sudden appearance and disappearance of the Pagani, the human stared dumbfounded at the road a little too long. When it finally came back to him what he was doing, he spun back to the sky and placed his eye to the eyepiece, gasping as he caught sight of a sleek black object in the sky.

"This is it! This is it!" He muttered excitedly as he adjusted the focus on his beloved telescope, zeroing in on the evidence of alien life that was so blatantly gliding along in the sky above. First blurry. Far away. Now closer. Sharper. Details became diamond edged, the black form razor-tipped against the softness of the silver clouds around it.

"Aw, damn." A sigh of ultimate disappointment; it was only an SR-71 Blackbird. No alien.

The human's vast knowledge of the American government and military, thus allowing him the greatest understanding of all possible cover-ups committed within the last hundred years, told him that, while seeing a Blackbird over a civilian town was truly a strange occurrence worth noting, the actual jet itself was not what he'd been looking for. It had Earth stamped all over it. Nothing extraterrestrial about it.

Feeling thwarted by some greater power in the universe, Miles dropped his hands from his precious telescope and climbed back into the attic.

Maybe another night would bring him an alien…

Little did he know; he'd just seen two.

* * *

"I don't like this, Frenzy. This blackout is completely unnatural," Barricade growled quietly, hunkering down securely in his parking spot in the Tranquility precinct parking lot. He and Frenzy had been biding their time there, keeping up all the appearances of a cruiser whose keys had been lost and no one was able to open. While it mystified the local meat-sacks that the Saleen seemingly had shown up out of nowhere and resisted all attempts to open its damn doors, they allowed it to stay in its chosen parking spot until they came up with a plan to deal with it. Those who did kick up a fuss over its presence mysteriously found their tires slashed shortly afterward.

"_Badbadbad." _Frenzy chattered warily from his compartment hidden within Barricade. _"Ffffield blocking allallall sensors." _

"It's almost like a dampening field, but I doubt any of the Autobots would dare be that blatant. They're too cautious about their alliance with the meat-sacks to be so overt," Barricade reasoned darkly. "Besides, they have no reason to incite an incident like this; we have remained…_neutral-," _he used the word as if it were saying something disgusting,_ "_-since Megatron fell. We haven't given them reason to attack."

"_Hhhuman enenengineered then?" _

Barricade barked a harsh laugh, not worried about any human hearing either Frenzy' chattering voice or his own; the carbon monkeys' hearing was too pathetic to be able to pick up the frequencies they were speaking at. "I doubt a field of this calibre could be created by any creature on this mudball. All my sensors are out, not just the primates' scrap. It's definitely Decepticon."

"_Yyyou want mememe to traccce it?" _

"If you can."

"_Nononono problem." _

While countless vorns had passed since their contract with each other had been formed, Barricade still had issues with the way he could feel the little silver parasite squirming inside him. It was possibly one of the most disturbing, disconcerting sensations he would ever experience.

A scream of tires down the road broke the Saleen out of his discontent musings, causing Frenzy to pause in tracing the dampening pulse. Something sleek and low to the ground blurred up the street, passing by the wire fence that Barricade sat behind like a growling shadow, whipping up a stinging wind as it passed; a bright flash lit the night aflame for an instant, and then suddenly the fence was gone. The Pagani eased itself up over the curb and glided into the parking lot like an oil slick, heading straight for them.

_Tttttttrouble." _Frenzy hissed, preparing himself for a fight.

Barricade rumbled darkly. _"Don't break cover unless they attack first." _He was loath to the idea of ruining a perfectly good cover by engaging in combat, but if it came to that extreme, then he'd face the unknown Decepticon with deadly force.

With the dampening field still active over the area, there was no way the Barricade could identify the Pagani, his spark resonance scanners rendered useless for the occasion. The encroaching car kept its creeping pace nonetheless, possessing all the danger of a panther stalking its prey. Barricade growled deeply, darkly, urging the unnamed 'Con to keep his distance; hidden within his compartment, Frenzy hissed frenetically, scrambling this way and that.

The Pangani's trunk suddenly popped open and whatever it contained filled the night with an odd buzzing sound. Glinting lightly in the honeyed lights of the streetlamps, a wasp-like microbot rose into the air and circled once around its master. In a slow, careful loop, it made its way to Barricade, making sure to keep a healthy distance between them as it flew a single circuit around him.

Dipping a little too close for comfort, Barricade tensed as the symbiote hovered just inches before his hood, clusters of optics dancing to readjust and examine him. With a whistle and a chirp, the creature completed its designated task, looping around in the air and gliding back to the trunk of the car. Whoever the Pangani was, it appeared pleased with whatever information had been gleaned from the encounter. A low, revving purr humming through the night. The car inched closer still, leaving barely a breath of air between them.

"_Identify yourself," _Barricade commanded darkly. He was met by strict silence. Nevertheless, there was the distinct feeling of amusement radiating from this sleek personification of shadow and danger. A sigh whispered through the dark night as brakes engaged softly, drawing the car to a slow, inching halt, allowing the breath of space between their bumpers to close. Metal brushed metal. An electric shock ran through the Saleen, the connection allowing him to feel out the resonance from the stranger's spark.

Instant awareness hit him.

_Flamewar. _

She knew the instant he knew. Her engine purred lowly, challenging him. _Inviting_ him. And then her wheels screamed as she reversed and shot away like a streak of dark lightning.

Her message was clear: _Catch me if you can. _

It was a challenge Barricade couldn't refuse. Throwing all care and caution to the wind, damning his own refuge to fend for itself while he sped after the femme, Barricade unleashed himself onto the roads as a blur of black and white.

"_FlameFlameFlamewar?" _The sudden question reminded him that Frenzy was still there, aware of his sudden wild thoughts and actions, but not of the reasons behind them.

"She is a femme I consorted with back on Kaon. We were… _close_." Barricade explained, feeling unnaturally generous to the parasite. Perhaps it was Flamewar's presence that was allowing him to be so civil.

A chattering laugh vibrated through Frenzy's carrying hold. _"Closecloseclose," _he mimicked.

Despite the erratic nature of his memories due to the energy surge when he reformatted, Frenzy remembered Flamewar somewhat Strong; dangerous; she was a force to be reckoned with. In the many vorns the symbiote had spent absently drifting through Barricade's memory files, mostly when the other mech was in recharge and completely unaware, he'd learned some very _intimate_ details regarding his partner's relationship with the Femme Commander.

Growling dangerously in reply to the symbiote's uncontrolled laughter, Barricade took a corner at twice the recommended speeds, making sure to hit the curb hard enough to jolt the little pest into silence. Satisfied the bug would stay silent long enough to allow him to focus on the chase, Barricade floored his accelerator, screaming towards the oil-slick of a car ahead.

A sharp laugh cut the air like the crack from a gun. Flamewar revved even louder, taillights blazing hot trails through the darkness as she swerved onto another street, carrying the chase further into the heart of Tranquility. Above them, the clouds burst apart as the haunting shadow of a jet swooped low over the buildings as if to take a closer look at what was happening. For a split astrosecond, the dampening field lifted, allowing Barricade to identify the second Decepticon as Soundwave. With Flamewar's transmitted assurances that she was keeping Barricade close on her tail and she wasn't going to lose him, Soundwave activated the field again and rose back into the inky velvet of the sky.

"Flamewar!" Barricade called, baritone voice reverberating off the buildings. Still the femme did not reply. "Flamewar, I know it's you! Answer me, fraggit!"

Like a ghost, she picked up her speed and disappeared down the next road. Her mastery of the art of evasion must have greatly improved since last they met; it had never been _this_ hard to catch her before. But the more she ran, the more he gave chase, feeling the ephemeral tug between their two beings as if it were an actual force compelling them to play this game. Some invisible power was throbbing between them, making them more aware of the other than they'd ever been before.

The wild, uncontrolled pulse of his spark made his entire frame feel light, unreal. As the wind screamed by, Flamewar's tail in his sights, Barricade had to question himself if this was real. How many times since the infinity ago when he left Cybertron had he dreamt of returning? Could he even count the number of times he'd looked out at the stars in hopes that she was still among them, waiting for him? Was it too much to hope that her spark still belonged to him?

He had to make sure this wasn't some cruel torment his processor was punishing him with. Growling like a caged beast, he pushed himself to be even with Flamewar's screaming pace, doors barely an inch apart. One wrong move and they'd both be in the scrap heap.

"Is it really you?" he rumbled.

"Catch me and you'll find out," she replied, her voice low and luscious. By the sound of her voice alone, a hot surge flooded through Barricade's frame. Coolant boiled under the instant thrill that sizzled through him. He didn't need to catch her to know the car he was chasing was Flamewar, but that didn't mean he was going to let her go. On the contrary, when he did catch her, there was a good chance he'd never let her go again.

Soundwave broke through the clouds once more, dropping to glide low over the buildings. He hung a sharp right over them, Flamewar copying his movement so that she suddenly swung onto a side road. The jet rocketed up and disappeared again.

Barricade began to get the distinct feeling he was being herded somewhere.

"_Ssssoundwave?" _

"It seems my femme is in league with your old master."

_Notnotnot good?" _

"Hard to say. It's good if they plan to get us off this fragging planet; it's bad if they're just finding a private place to kill us."

"_We fffight?" _

Barricade growled as he fishtailed into a narrow way, throwing up a flurry of garbage and littered fliers. "It'd be two against one and a quarter; you do the math."

Frenzy hissed, wracking his processor for _anything_ that may help them in case of a fight. His memories of Soundwave were clearer than the others, but still hard to judge. There was no emotional resonance with them that would allow him to judge whether or not they'd be safe if Soundwave and Flamewar decided to corner them somewhere.

He remembered Soundwave as his original Creator. He was brought online as a pre-programmed mech to serve as an assistant aboard the communications hub Soundwave worked on; he knew that before the war broke out, Megatron had approached Soundwave with an offer of rank and power, one in which Soundwave refused at first, but later accepted after hearing the pleas from his Creations. Frenzy was also aware of the contract of symbiosis Soundwave proposed to all his Creations in order to keep them safe and close. They'd all accepted. But…thanks to the contract that Frenzy now held with Barricade, the attachment he once had for his master and fellow symbiotes was null and void; he could _remember_ what he once felt for them, and they for him, but he could no longer summon those feelings.

Lacking as he was in that department, it was making calculating the risk of death compared to the mechs dealing it out a little difficult.

Up ahead, Flamewar's taillights disappeared once more, swerving into the shadowed cavern of an old parking lot. Barricade noted with much amusement that it was the place he'd first encountered the human Samuel Witwicky. He swung in after the femme, fully intending to demand answers for her sudden appearance on Earth. Upon sinking into the relative darkness and encompassing silence, the unexpected tension that suddenly electrified the air had the Saleen slowing to a tentative halt.

Flamewar spun around at the far end of the dark complex so they faced each other on opposite ends, idling quietly. Her trunk popped open again and Waspinator flew free, buzzing away to fetch the Blackbird circling silently above. Moments later, the sky rumbled, and then the familiar sounds of transformation drifted through the night. Two large metal feet touched down on the pavement next to the covered parking lot, the towering frame kneeling to peer inside. The unrelenting gaze shifted from Flamewar to Barricade, but the cruiser was given the distinct impression that he was not being stared at, but rather stared through.

"Flamewar?" Soundwave asked tentatively, prompting her.

A cool laugh shimmered in the shadows. "They're both there, Barricade and Frenzy."

Soundwave stared a little longer, reading the other mechs as if they were open books. "Confirmed: Barricade and Frenzy."

Panels on the mech's back shifted and several metal shapes slithered from him, shifting unsurely. Rumble was the first to gather enough courage and lope forward, circling Barricade with narrowed optics. He looked a little worse for wear, a slight kink in his gait, but nevertheless he was still the Rumble he'd always been. Without prompting, Frenzy crawled out of his hold and skittered out of the cab, on to the roof. He sat watching as the other symbiotes gathered.

Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ratbat swooped carefully overhead, just out of reach for the small mech.

"_Frenzy?"_ Laserbeak asked quietly.

The silver mech did not answer, although his head did incline slightly in acknowledgement. He knew these bots, but he felt distant from them. Separated. A consequence of being partnered with Barricade.

Ravage appeared next to Barricade's door, close but not touching. "Time to come home," he said, his deep voice purring dully in the dark.

"_Hhhhhome?" _The word sounded foreign to him.

Soundwave's burning gaze shifted from Frenzy to Barricade, pinning him to the pavement. "Release him from his contract," he ordered.

"No problem," Barricade growled, more than happy to do away with the source of most of his frustrations in the universe. Symbiotic contract bonds were easily forged; one sought out the resonance of the chosen partner's spark and imprints it on to their own spark, almost like sparkbonding, but not so intimate or permanent. Breaking them could be considered just as easy, all it took was a simple deletion of the resonance memory from the spark and all concerning programs, but, depending on time partnered and emotional attachment, breaking the contract could always smart a little. In Barricade's case, a twinge in his spark shook him briefly.

Flamewar purred deliciously, creeping forward minutely, drawn to her now free mech. She held back, though, allowing Soundwave his time. She knew he would back off soon enough, giving her an all access pass to the mech she desired most. She just had to bid her time until then.

Soundwave's large hand suddenly appeared out of the night, dipping into the low expanse of the parking lot. "Come," he ordered. His symbiotes did not hesitate to comply, turning and trotting obediently to their Creator's hand. Frenzy, on the other hand, paused, looking back and forth between Barricade and Soundwave. It had been so long since he's been a free mech, bound to no one and nothing. The overwhelming sensation was wild and freeing and strange. Without Barricade in his processor anymore, his thoughts cleared ever so slightly. He could think in a relatively linear way.

"_I-," _Frenzy hesitated once more, sliding from Barricade's roof to the ground, his optics swivelling from one mech to the other. One was urging him to go, the other urging him to come, and part of him wished to comply to either command, but a nagging, niggling piece of his spark screamed _"freedom!" _It'd been so long since he'd been his own mech.

Carefully, cautiously, he trotted over to his ex-master, undaunted by the new, huge frame Soundwave sported. The quicksilver mech reached up and touched his hand to the cool metal of the side of Soundwave's giant palm. _"IIII am ffffree," _he said slowly, twisting his head back to look into Soundwave's unfathomable, visor-obscured optics.

"Yes." The word was simply a statement, no emotional connotation whatsoever. He was waiting for Frenzy's decision.

"_Llllllet mememe be freeeee a little longer." _

Soundwave's hand curled closed and pulled back slowly. His faceplate revealed nothing of what he was feeling. He was careful enough to not let his other symbiotes catch wind of what he was feeling. With his features schooled into their usual blank slate, the Communication Officer nodded and eased back.

"_Ssssssoundwave?" _

"Very well," the mech replied after a long, hard silence. "You may have your freedom." It was obvious he wanted to say more, but resisted.

Flamewar's engine sputtered quietly. "But you've come all this way-!" she objected.

"It is what he wants," Soundwave said, cutting her off. "I will not impress upon him something he does not want."

"Soundwave-!" Rumble began, but was quickly silenced with a quick swipe from Ravage.

"It's his choice," the quadruped growled.

Soundwave sighed expansively, nodding to Flamewar; it was her turn now with her mech. "I will remain near to maintain the dampening field, but its perimeters will be narrowed to draw less attention," he informed. "Try to keep within the field for the duration of your… _reunion_."

Flamewar's headlights flickered then flared. "Of course," she acquiesced.

Slowly, Soundwave straightened and backed away from the low compound, moving away only a step or two, which was the most he could manage before walking into a nearby building. Quietly, his Creations followed, even Frenzy after a soft prod in the back by Ravage, leaving Barricade alone with Flamewar.

They idled on their wheels for a long time, simply staring at each other. Flamewar desperately wished that Soundwave could drop the field, if even for a single second, so she could simply scan Barricade's spark resonance again; her wishes mirrored by Barricade himself. They wished to feel each other's spark; make sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that who they were looking at was who they appeared to be and not some cruel figment. Flamewar was the first to make a move, her frame suddenly splitting apart and shifting as she transformed. Barricade followed suit quickly after, not willing to miss a moment.

Barricade's heated optics raked over her new frame, taking in her increased height that put her even with him, the sharp needle points the armor seemed to be drawn into, the liquid flame quality to her already beautiful optics, and the shimmering blackness of the paint she sported.

"You reformatted," he said matter-of-factly.

A sly grin stretched her mouthplates. "Yes. Do you like it?"

"It's…" he could find no words to describe the perfection of the killing machine his femme inhabited. He would have to settle for telling her it was, "_perfect." _

She slinked forward, the true embodiment of shadow and danger. Her optics were fevered and hungry as they devoured the sight of Barricade, her mech, her one desire, standing there as real as anything. Her spark pulsed wildly in her chassis, thrumming hotly against the inside of her armor, crying out desperately for the black-and-white mech that stood not even an arm's length away. The world around them faded a little, leaving them as the only two beings left in the universe. There was no damn mudball planet overpopulated with organic nuisances, no dead Megatron, no destroyed Allspark, no Communications Officer and his symbiotes sitting only a street away, able to hear every whispered word that left their vocal processors. Just them.

"I missed you." The words fell from Flamewar before she could check herself.

Something softened in Barricade's hungry optics. "I missed you more." He reached out with both hands and took her arms into his grasp, drawing her close enough to place his forehead to hers. The simple contact had them both groaning, sagging into each other in pure relief, drinking each other in. To be close again; to be able to touch each other and say it wasn't just cruel torture of wishful thinking… The longer they pressed together, the more they desired further contact.

Flamewar's hands came up, grasping the side's of Barricade's faceplate and tugging him so that they were forehead to forehead, olfactory sensor to olfactory sensor, chin to chin, the rest of their frames moulding to fit together intimately. Her sharp fingers trailed down, playing with sensitive cables hidden beneath her mech's armor in his neck. A shiver traveled through her as a hiss blew from Barricade, his hands clenching tighter at her arms.

"I want you," Barricade managed to growl out, his lust-deepened voice vibrating deliciously between them.

Flamewar hummed sensuously, fingers still playing with sensitive cables. "I want you _more_."

Hot blue ribbons of electricity sizzled between their armor over their sparks. Flamewar clutched Barricade closer, hungering for more, her mech complying with more force than what was necessary. He grabbed her tightly and swung them so that her back slammed again a concrete wall, cracking it, mashing their frames so close that electricity erupted between every point of contact.

The femme's head tossed back, crying out as the shock of pure ecstasy overtook her. Never had she felt anything like that from pure physical contact alone. "You- you've certainly gotten stronger," she groaned, wriggling against her mech's unrelenting frame.

"I needed to get stronger," he replied, letting his claws slip from her arms to circle around her back, running over the tips of the spikes adorning her frame, tracing them down into the live wires hidden beneath the surface. He remembered in vivid detail what their last conversation had been; it still brought a sharp pang to his spark. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long."

"I would have waited forever for you."

Those whispered words sparked a hot flame within him, increasing the wild pulse of his spark until it became nothing but a steady hum. He was hot; alive; consumed with the wild, hungering feeling of desire and possession. And he could tell with no short amount of satisfaction that Flamewar felt the same thing. Her grasping claws and desperate keening made it clear what she desired, her blazing optics locked on him alone.

Something was brewing between them; something strong and potent, causing their frames to heat up, to whirr and hum and come to life in a way they never felt before, their sparks crying out for something they couldn't name, a desire they couldn't put into words.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Why waste time with words when they could have what they really wanted?

Flamewar felt his hands at her interface panel, just as hers hands delved for his, but scrabbling was not enough. She was desperate. So was he. They were too hot. Too needy. Too full of the consuming desire to possess the other. Her patience had been spent vorns ago as she wasted away on the Darksyde; with a barely concealed snarl, the femme dug her claws into the metal panel and ripped it away, feeling the over sensitized shock reverberate through her own frame as her own covering panel went flying.

The electricity flying between them was almost too much to allow the right cables to be inserted into the right ports. Instantaneous connection rendered; their heads flew back in perfect rapture as they suddenly intertwined, weaving into the perfection of their other half. The wall Barricade had been forcing Flamewar into collapsed further in onto itself, taking the two bots down with it. They hardly noticed. Not when they were exploring territories that belonged solely to them, drinking from an oasis that only existed when they were together.

And the heat. The heat was blazing. Burning. Searing. Painful and damn well the best ecstasy they'd ever experienced. Their coolant boiled over and their internal fans whirred desperately, and still their temperatures soared. Around them, puddles of stagnant water heated, steamed, evaporated into a hazy fog that settled thick around them, encapsulating them in a cocoon of lust and longing.

Barricade plundered what he saw fit, ravaging his femme's offered mind as if she were a buffet designed just for him. He took, he stole, he dived deeper, caressing her mind in ways so intimate that she cried out, begged, clawed at him until his paint peeled, and desperately scratched for more that her fingers caught on an energon line below a slate in his armor and he bled hot energon.

The sizzle of the glowing liquid snapped Flamewar into hyper-awareness. Every neural relay in her frame was alive and screaming. Her optics blazed gloriously in the dark, demanding Barricade's gaze, forcing him to look at her. What she saw sucked every ounce of air and sense out of her being.

He worshiped her.

It wasn't just lust. Not blind hunger or arousal. There was emotion burning bright and real and feverish in his optics. He was giving her everything he had, pouring himself into her as if she were a goddess and he had only himself as a meagre offering. And every revealing, powerful, spark-inspiring emotion she saw crossing his dazzling optics she knew were mirrored in her own. For every touch, astral or otherwise, she returned it with all her spark.

In that instant, they knew they were in dangerous territory.

They were Decepticons wavering dangerously close to the precipice of _love_.

Their movements stilled, the once blazing heat boiling them alive suddenly simmering down to a heated throb.

They knew they were close to a dangerous path, one that no two Decepticons had ever dared to wander down. Could they do that? Were they brave enough? Strong enough? Were they ready for something so huge and consuming, binding and powerful?

Barricade's optics dropped to the nonexistent space between them, shifting so that hot electricity danced between, lighting small fires across their plating. His gaze slowly traveled back up to Flamewar's faceplate, mapping every detail of her frame as his gaze made its way up slowly. Resolution suddenly pumped in through his side of the connection; after the pit he'd lived through in the _Nemesis_, he was ready to have his Matrix, his everything. He was ready to pledge everything to her.

Flamewar shuttered her optics, tilting her head back before she was forced to stare into those beautiful ruby optics. Could _she_ do this? Was she ready? Was she capable? After so long of waiting… wishing… wanting… Everything she'd sacrificed; the pit she lived through on the _Darksyde_… Always searching for him, hoping to see the _Nemesis_ on the horizon.

Her optics suddenly opened, meeting Barricade's resolute gaze. With that one look, she knew.

Her legs coiled up, her feet planting firmly in Barricade's abdominal plating, before she thrust all the power she had in her lower body to throw the mech off and across the parking lot. A wild shower of sparks erupted in the night as he hit the cement ceiling, and then skidded along the ground. Chunks of heavy roof and ground flung this way and that. Before the mech even had a chance to register what had happened, his femme was on him again, claws digging into the crease of his chassis and trying to fling open his chest plates.

"Here? Now?" He asked, choked on lust and wonder.

"I'm not waiting another damn astrosecond!" she snarled.

The heat returned ten fold between them. Barricade's chest plates flung open, Flamewar's mirroring him. They were already too excited; too wild with pure sensation and emotion; with the exposure of their sparks, the hot electricity that had been flying through between them suddenly became a storm. The parking lot they writhed in was thrown into sharp relief as the very essence of the two bots was unveiled in unrivalled glory.

"Primus, you're beautiful," Barricade managed to murmur as he reached out to caress the pulsing magnificence displayed before him. He was not prepared for the wild cry Flamewar released as the very tips of his claws touched her, her entire frame arching backward until it seemed as if she would snap. To see her so lost in pleasure…. He touched her again, this time more boldly, let his fingers intertwine with the divine energy within her spark case.

"Barricade! Please, Barricade! _Now_!" She shrieked, fingers, hands, limbs grasping wildly for something to ground her to the solid world. She was going to die if this went on any longer.

Drawing his hands out of her chassis, Barricade took Flamewar's faceplate and pressed their foreheads together once more. His optics only asked one question.

_Are you sure? _

And her optics seared with the answer.

_I've never been more sure of anything in my life. _

He nodded, grasping her frame, pausing for only an astrosecond, contemplating the very moment their sparks would make contact… The astrosecond seemed to stretch on for eternity. With a desperate hissed, Flamewar's hands shot out and clutched tightly to his shoulders, dragging herself down. Their open chests fused, sparks suddenly thrusting together.

Time literally stopped for that moment.

They lay there, frozen, optics focused on only each other, more aware of each other in this very moment than they ever had been before and ever will be again.

In that instant, they were one. They were _whole_.

The intensity of the aftermath of the bonding lit the night so brightly it became day for split astrosecond. Left weak, drained, and intensely satisfied, Barricade and Flamewar simply let themselves lie in a stupor of bliss until they could feel their own frames again.

Dawn was actually just below the horizon before either one of them moved. Flamewar was the first to shift, inching her chest upward so as to slowly, agonizingly, pull her spark away from its other half. That act alone nearly drained of her every last drop of sense she had. She flopped to the side and found herself pulled into the shelter of her mech's side. Her hand went out to him, laying overtop the spot where she felt his spark pulsing beneath the now closed armor.

They were changed now. Irreversibly. Irrevocably.

Awe clear on his faceplate, Barricade turned to stare at the femme lying next to him. Even with the dampening field still active and all his sensors dead, he could still _feel_ her. In every fibre of his being, she now existed. Now until the end of time. Every line of code, every program, every file, every minute speck of information gathered in his frame was now imprinted with the very essence of this deadly, dangerous femme. And he to her.

They felt each other as clearly as they were aware of themselves. It was an awing, humbling sixth sense that was beyond intimate. Thoughts, emotions ran like ghosts between them through the painfully new bond that had just been forged between them.

Barricade was suddenly overtaken with the urge to solidify the overwhelming emotions pulsing through his frame. "Flamewar, I lo-."

"Shhhh, don't ruin it," she hushed, a single finger to his mouthplates. "Maybe later."

Barricade nodded. They had forever now.

Extreme exhaustion suddenly overtook them, all their energy spent. Not a thought crossed their processors over the fact that they were laying in the middle of a destroyed parking lot at the heart of an alien town whose citizens were about to awaken with the dawn (if they were not already awake from the pit the two 'Cons had raised through the night), nor to the fact that they had just committed a dangerous crime against every Decepticon ideal that had been drilled into them. They were in love. They were _bonded_.

They didn't care. Not now. Not when they _finally_ had each other.

Together, they drifted off into recharge.

They'd deal with tomorrow when it came.


	11. Come from Afar

Sorry I took so long updating! . I've been away for two weeks and have seriously lacked the normal inspiration to write. I loved visiting family and camping and all but not having the drive to write bothered me. I'm glad that I finally got this put together. I hope you all enjoy!

Thanks so much to **theshadowcat, Cassiopeia1979, Elita One, Jason M. Lee, Daebereth, Bunnylass, Flameshield, Lady Tecuma, Bluebird Soaring, Stripperella, Violetlight, Chloo, Kirmon64**, and **Litahatchee**! You are the wonderful reviewers that make writing this fic as wonderful and pleasurable as it is! I have no words adequate enough to convey my deepest thanks.

Thank you goes out specially to **Violetlight, Litahatchee**, and **Lady Tecuma** for encouraging me and editing my ass. You three have been the best!

_Nightshade- _An original character that belongs to **Violetlight**. Credit goes to her for all her wonderful imaginings.

_Quel-Caol- _An out of the way Decepticon outpost mentioned in _When Heaven Fell_

_Scrapions- _They are the Decepticon equivalent to Junkions. Again, they are mentioned in the expansion fic _When Heaven Fell. _

_Bolding some TF conversations and not others- _I'm only going to bold Cybertronian conversation when they are in the presence of humans to show that they are speaking their native tongue in front of us little organics. When it is only the Cybertronians themselves in a room, I think it's pretty much a given that they would speak their own language and quite unnecessary for me to bold it.

_Trojan and Worm's lack to talking_- it's explained in When Heaven Fell. They're Scrapions from the Simfur/Black Expanse region who reformatted to join Virus.

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Voices Come from Afar **

Exacting revenge was all part of being Decepticon, which was why Nightshade felt particularly Decepticon-ish as she marched out from Flamewar's previously locked and forbidden quarters. The once closed off room containing the femme's few treasured items in the universe (a few trophies Barricade had stripped from dead Autobots, weapons bought with dirty money, trinkets from her gladiatorial orns), were now laid to a satisfying waste.

The shattered remains of a crystalline display case crunched loudly under foot, echoing emptily in the silent ship. Shelves once laden with their few burdens, memories of Flamewar's past, scattered in pieces. Utterly destroyed. Some were even charred beyond recognition.

Nightshade paused in the doorway, letting the dim light from the corridor beyond leak into the small, dingy room. There may have been a small part of her that felt remorse for what she had done, thinking of how she would feel if all her own precious treasures had been ransacked and destroyed beyond repair, but the remorse was overpowered easily by the feeling of satisfaction. She'd feel guilt later, if she ever felt it at all.

After all, in her mind, she was just returning a favour; an optic-for-an-optic sort of deal. Flamewar took Waspinator from Nightshade, so Nightshade took _everything_ from Flamewar. The destruction, in no way, made her any less pissed off at Flamewar or Soundwave, but at least she could live with herself now. And to think, she'd cohabitated with the femme for hundreds of vorns on the same ship in relative neutrality, and yet all it took was someone to be a tattletale for _this_ to erupt. Loyalty amongst Decepticons never was strong…

With a harsh snort, Nightshade spun on her heel and marched out. While it had been her intention to attempt repairs on the ship again after her interlude into Flamewar's quarters, the draw of the empty ship was itching at her once more. She may have hated being left behind, forced to sparkling-sit a junk heap, she also knew there was power in being the sole occupant on board said junk heap.

Giddy from her exacted vengeance and the fact that not even Soundwave could punish her for her foolish indulgences, Nightshade paused briefly outside the captain's quarters. The door was nondescript, no different from any other door on the ship, except for the long gouges that ran along the walls and the length of the door, testaments to Virus's temper when a deal went awry. A niggling feeling crept into Nightshade's processor not for the first time; while Virus was gone and everyone else was away, that made _her _captain. While fear of severe punishment had always kept her curiosities in check, Nightshade was being buoyed by her small victory over Flamewar's room, making her a little reckless, more inclined to do something she might not have ever dared to do before: go into Virus's room. Alone.

It was completely unreasonable to think that so much time had been spent on the dinky _Darksyde_ without a bot experiencing all the rooms at least once, but there were rooms that, no matter the occasion, were always foreboding. Flamewar's private sanctum had been one; Virus's lair was another. Nightshade had been in both on occasion, but to enter uninvited, unsupervised…

"Well, I _am_ the acting captain…" She reasoned, laughing. "So, _technically_, this is my room until further notice." She slid in as the door hissed open.

There were no windows in Virus's room, casting it in inky blackness. The light leaking in from the hall was weak, as if it were afraid to fall beyond the doorway. From what Nightshade could see as her optics adjusted to the near-blackness, Virus's lair had not changed much from the last time she's been in here; there was no recharge berth, no shelves with personal possessions, no indications of a bot living there at all. Instead, the room was a strange mix of scrap heap and mad lab; eons worth of junk laid in rotting piles along the floor, the rust and corrosive materials eating through the metal of the floor; the walls and ceiling were strung with wires and cables and conductors. Monitors blinked and flickered in chaotic disarray, causing the menacing shadows on the walls to dance in a jerking, violent manner while viral specimens were carefully observed. Frame parts and medical tools laid scattered across the floor, some spattered and crusted with old energon. The Decepticon symbol was gouged into the ceiling where the light never quite hit it.

Nightshade's spark fluttered as she stepped in, morbid curiosity eating at her. She absently hummed a sound-byte she'd heard in a horror holo-vid she'd watched long ago.

The silence was not absolute here as it was in the rest of the ship; there was live buzzing from configurations along the floor, humming from electrical wires vibrating above, and patterns of beeps and clicks and whistles that echoed from the shadows. The haunting, almost malignant, sonata set Nightshade on edge. Everything felt _alive_ in the room, and she couldn't shake the unnerving sense of being watched. There were things left in shadow, rotting things left to disintegrate in dark corners, forgotten projects that festered where the light never shone; this was Virus's haven, surrounded by infectious, diseased fragments she treated as lovers and pets. This was not a welcome place for any sane being.

Too distracted by the macabre treasure trove of viral warfare, Nightshade lost track of where she was setting her feet as she wandered in deeper. To her horror, something cold and oozing suddenly squished under foot.

"UGH!" Every ounce of her being recoiled in disgust, wrenching away. A wet slopping noise joined the din of activity as bits of the slimy substance went flying.

"Fragging spark of a glitch- that's disgusting!" Nightshade cursed heatedly, kicking her foot around to dislodge the last remains of the slime. "Would it kill her to clean up once in a while?!"

The repugnant odour coming off the substance was enough to make her purge. As her foot flew blindly through the air, throwing off the last remnants of the gunk, it connected with something metal dangling from an overly crowded lab table. There was a loud clatter and the thing toppled sideways, and then rolled off the table, taking half the detritus with it.

"Oh pit-fragging Primus, you've got to be kidding me!"

Nightshade immediately dove for the mess, throwing it back up on the table without care. Surely Virus wouldn't notice if someone messed up her mess? But, as the rust and scrap was cleared away, a sliver of weak light glinted on something metallic green. Something not rusted. Clearing the area a little more, a small, limp arm was revealed, connected to a shoulder and torso; in short order, a small frame was dug out from the trash.

Curiosity, again, got the better of her.

Taking hold of the tiny dead frame, Nightshade hefted it into a mote of light. She stared hard, and then smirked at the oddity. "What do you know; a familiar faceplate."

It was either a very small femme or tall microbot, standing within the size range to be either one, but the exact design of the frame left it too vague to denote either model. The frame was medical class though, that much was obvious, as was the fact that it was exactly half of Nightshade's height. The paint glinted dully under scrutiny; metallic green like the carapace of a beetle.

Nightshade knew this frame. It was the frame Virus had inhabited before she reformatted.

"_Moonfly."_

After all this time, who would have thought a monster like Virus would have kept her old frame? In such relatively good condition no less! Before she could ponder further over the puzzle she'd uncovered, a loud chirping alert rang through the bowels of the ship. Someone was hailing the _Darksyde_.

A silent thrill of excitement shot through the femme. She tossed the empty frame aside and rushed out. Could it be Virus? Or maybe Soundwave finally calling upon her? Or, Primus forbid, Flamewar calling to gloat? Swinging into the bridge, Nightshade quickly activated the comms, bringing the view screen online when it indicated that visual establishment was possible. To her ultimate surprise, Swindle's faceplate appeared. She sighed expansively, not bothering to disguise any of her ultimate disappointment.

There was a pause as the dealer assessed the femme he saw sitting alone on the bridge of the _Darksyde_. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd encountered Nightshade in command of the bridge, but the disappointment she was regarding him with now was a little disconcerting.

"_This is Swindle, captain of the _Double-cross_. Am I being received, _Darksyde_?" _

It took an astrosecond for Nightshade to respond. "Yes, you're being received just fine, _Double-cross_."

"_Oh, that's good. I didn't know if the _Darksyde_ was going to be able to receive such a long distance transmission… your transceiver has always been a little touchy." _

"That's because it's a piece of slag," Nightshade replied, all in the name of customary small talk. "May I enquire, Swindle, where the pit are you? And how did you find this ship here?"

Swindle settled back in his seat and, for the first time, Nightshade noticed the dealer was being flanked by his three fellow Combaticons. _"Well, you see, that's a very interesting story, actually. We are hovering very near the star in this system, just on the outer event horizon of a very strange wormhole." _

"And how did you come about the wormhole? You're a merchant, not an explorer. I didn't think it was in your programming to waste resources on a whim."

"_This was hardly a whim,"_ Swindle replied, optic flashing a little brighter. _"Our… _mutual client_ was more than generous in supplying your location and directions to reach you." _

Nightshade's optics narrowed into a suspicious glare. "To what end would Mastermind be supplying you with such information?"

Swindle gestured to himself and his fellow mechs. _"We've been requested to find more material for Mastermind's experiments, though he's asking we supply him with an Autobot this time. As you well know, we only do 'Con and Neutral pick ups- the _Darksyde _does Autobot."_

"So, what? You're dumping your business on us? How unlike you," Nightshade pointed out.

"_Not dumping, per say. We're only seeking assistance." _

"You needn't of come this far; you could have went to Doubledealer for assistance in trapping an Autobot. He's more than equipped and capable, not to mention a little closer to home."

Swindle grimaced. _"I know, but he is… _difficult_ to deal with in any case- far more so than Virus is."_ The mech reasoned.

Nightshade nodded reluctantly. Doubledealer was, much of the time, very awkward to interact with. No one was ever quite sure who was looking out the mech's optics, Dealer or Doubledealer, if anyone was looking out at all. "Fine, fine, I see your point in coming to us."

"_Then you will summon Virus so I may speak with her?" _

"She's not on the ship at the moment," Nightshade replied curtly.

"_Soundwave, then? Or Flamewar?" _

A dour expression took hold of Nightshade's faceplate and she answered flatly, "No and no, both are gone as well."

Someone murmured in the background, one of the other Combaticons making something known to Swindle. The mech's optic swivelled gently as he processed the information and he jerked his head in a nod, turning his gaze back to Nightshade. _"Is there any way to get a hold of them?"_ the merchant pressed. _"We have a pressing need to get in touch with Virus and we do not want to linger too long around this star- it's flaring, and the radiation is quite high." _

"Then move your damn ship," the femme huffed.

"_I would, but the wormhole we came through has a most unusual nature. It fluctuates with the solar flares and I fear that it may collapse; I'd rather stay close to get through while we still can." _

"That doesn't sound good… it fluctuates, you say?" the femme voiced cautiously. She was loath to the idea of being trapped in this backwater, mud-ball section of the universe.

Swindle pressed his urgency. _"Yes, and the sooner you connect me to someone, the sooner my crew and I can be on our way. You as well, if you wished. I don't believe you would appreciate it much to be trapped in this "quaint" section of the universe."_

"I'll see what I can do," Nightshade acquiesced, mouthplates pursed. "I'll attempt to connect you to the _Invader_."

"_Virus is onboard?" _

Nightshade narrowed her optics. "_Obviously_," she hissed. "I'll give you no guarantees of contact though. First is the matter of getting a hold of her, which may prove difficult since no one has bothered to hail me since they left, and then there is the matter of her accepting your call at all."

"_I trust you will see to it to the best of your ability." _

Her olfactory sensor went in the air. "I've never done less."

* * *

The Autobot base, while always a hub of activity and construction, was now in an extra flurry of excitement all thanks to the new "guests" that had been dragged into the make-shift brig several levels below ground.

Flamewar and Barricade had come along surprisingly quietly, as soon as everyone realized that trying to separate them for transport was impossible. Ratchet had picked up the change before anyone else, recognizing the signs. He'd ordered a large perimeter set up around them while he attempted to sort them out, which that in itself was difficult. They were newly bonded by only a few joors; it was nearly impossible to have them lucid for more than a few breems. The moment he'd attempted to touch Flamewar, he nearly lost a hand to Barricade. Both of them were more feral than sane. In the end, they had to be heavily sedated and dragged into the specially made trailers Optimus tailored for his alt mode.

They had _not_ been happy when they came to.

Soundwave, on the other hand, had been relatively less trouble to deal with. While his size made him unbelievably intrusive in the middle of downtown Tranquility, he did comply to Optimus's request of transforming and following them quietly to their base. His symbiotes, plus Frenzy, had been left behind in the town to erase every electronic device that might have recorded their presence.

Simmons was more or less having an aneurism over the immense cover up that was being conducted throughout the entirety of Tranquility, not to mention the efforts being put forth to reconstruct the parking lot that had been destroyed. A massive quarantine had been set up for the greater part of the downtown, denizens being held off in camps under the impression that they had bared witness to yet another _military_ experiment gone wrong. In truth, the majority of them were going to be dosed with a large amount of amnesic drugs and told there had been a gas explosion, despite the fact that it seemed nearly impossible to have a gas explosion in an empty parking lot. The lucky citizens who'd been far enough away to only hear the commotion were being told that they were being cordoned off for their own protection and that they would be safe to return to their homes as soon as fumes from the "explosion" had cleared.

There were a few that kicked up a fuss that the incident with the mass blackout and the parking lot were related. Simmons saw to them personally.

Now, as cool, dark evening set about them, the towering mech stood on the very outskirts of the base, surrounded by a bounty of heavily armed humans, watching the sunset without a word.

For the fifth time that evening, Optimus posed his question to the pair of glowering Decepticons in the brig.

"Why are you here?"

For the fifth time, Flamewar shot the Autobot Commander a dark look and snorted. "To enjoy the scenery."

"That is hardly the kind of answer I'm looking for," Optimus replied evenly, despite his waning patience.

"Well, that's the only answer you're going to get out of me."

Bumblebee revved impatiently from his place behind his Commander, cannon up and charged in case the force field keeping the two 'Cons sealed in their cell failed. Barricade growled audibly, shifting so that his grip on his new mate was more securely wrapped around her. His glare was pure poison on the yellow bot.

"I will ask again, what is your purpose for being on this planet, Flamewar?" Optimus pressed.

"You're deluded if you are under the impression that I will speak openly with you, Autobot."

"Megatron is dead and the Allspark is destroyed; there should be no reason for you to come to this planet. Explain your presence, Decepticon."

Flamewar laughed, tipping her head slightly. "'_Decepticon_'," she hummed, rolling the word over her vocal processor. "It's been a while since anyone's called me that."

Optimus quirked an enquiring optic ridge, to which Flamewar adamantly ignored. She instead turned to Barricade and ran her claw up his chassis, instantly entranced by what she could feel beating so close to the surface beneath the metal. She felt him hovering in the air around her, enwrapping her in a thick blanket of jealous protectiveness. It had been so long since she had had someone who gave two damns about her; this sudden feeling of being wanted and welcome was enthralling and addicting.

"If you are not Decepticon, state your alliance," Optimus ordered.

Barricade's gaze cut to Flamewar, raking her gently. His gentle urging through their raw new bond was enough to spur fire in her frame. His request was easy enough to translate: _Give them what they want so they leave us alone. _

_Very well. _Flamewar leaned in and laid her forehead against his shoulder before straightening and turning her sharp gaze once more to Optimus. "I have no alliance," she announced.

"Neutral, then?"

"I am my own master."

"Oh?"

"I have served under Virus for the last countless vorns, first under terms of payment, and then because I had no where else to go," she informed bitterly. "I am not considered Decepticon, but I am often at their service."

Optimus's gaze never wavered. "Ah, I see. Mercenary."

"I was."

"And now?"

"Like I said, I am my own master." Her sharp hand curled tighter around her mate's.

"So you say," Prime acquiesced. "Though, this bond of yours-." Their reaction was instantaneous; both on their feet, snarling. Optimus did not react, but Bumblebee took offense and started forward, only to be restrained by Prime.

"What we choose to do is of our own business and of no consequence to you," Barricade spat, bristling.

"While you are on this planet, everything you do is of consequence to me and all others of our kind on this planet," Optimus pointed out, pressing his calm attitude as he stared down the livid 'Cons. "Choosing to bond in the middle of a populated area was not a wise decision."

Barricade shifted closer to his mate, just as she took a step closer to him. Their armor scraped as they offered support to the other. "We refuse to regret it," the mech growled, speaking for both of them.

Optimus raised his hands, all too understanding to the sensitivities of a newly bonded pair. They were vulnerable and far more likely to get defensive. "I wasn't suggesting that," he said, sighing. "I'm sure both of you had very good intentions in bonding; the choice in locations was simply poor." Bumblebee stifled the intentional laughter that bubbled up through him, ignoring the venomous glares thrown his way.

Optimus sighed, scrubbing his palm against his faceplate. He was tired and this interlude was providing more stress than he needed. He'd already been awake for more than an orn, above and beyond an Earth week, due to all the chaos, if this charade drew out any longer, he'd be awake for another full orn.

Trying to regroup the failing situation, Optimus spoke once again to the 'Cons. "I understand that this is crucial time in your bonding and that the two of you wish to be left to your own devices, and while I am willing to give that freedom to you, I need assurances first that you pose no threat."

"I'll suck slag before becoming an Autobot," Barricade growled darkly.

"Your reluctance is understandable, but without some form of assurance that you will leave the local life forms in peace, you cannot be released from this cell."

"And yet you leave Soundwave out there surrounded by a legion of the local life forms while he could very well be the most dangerous one of us all," Barricade laughed derisively.

"Soundwave has been unusually complacent with our demands and has shown no hostility as of yet," Optimus reasoned.

"He doesn't need to show hostility to be able to reach out and squish a few of your carbon-monkey pets," the mech growled.

"They're not pets!" Bumblebee objected rashly.

"So says the mech who personally looks after one," Barricade snapped back. His hand gestured to the cell around him, to the large base still being constructed. "You house them here, provide them with their needed facilities and organic fuels for them to consume, even offering them transportation and services when needed. It's either they are the pets, or you are."

Irrationally incensed, Bumblebee bristled and marched to the force field separating them. "It's not like that!"

Clearly aware that he was getting under the young Autobot's armour, Barricade sneered. "I hardly want to know what it's like around here. Primus only knows what kind of deals you've struck with these primitive creatures."

"At least we can interact with them in a sensible manner, which is more than what you can say!" the minibot spat back. "We know what you've been doing all these orns, hiding out in a police parking lot pretending to be an empty cruiser; you've just been sneaking around with your exhaust pipe between your legs!"

A snarl ripped from the 'Con as he launched himself up, ready to attack if it weren't for the sharp black needle-armor that dug itself into his arm and forced him down next to his mate. Through their bond, her demand for him to stand down rang loud and clear, nearly making him sick with the clarity of the order. She was planning something, he felt it, but with the fiery pain of her claws latched on to the innards of his arm, he was immobile and not willing to enquire further.

Optimus was a little more vocal with his order for Bumblebee to stand down. His arm went out to catch the yellow mech across the chest, keeping him at bay, and then guiding him back farther.

"Bumblebee, keep your emotions in check. Do not fall for such antics meant to get you going," Optimus warned firmly. "You've been a soldier for a long time; this is no time for you to be forgetting that. Nor should you be forgetting that Flamewar and Barricade are not our prisoners, they are merely in the brig as a safety precaution and will be released as soon as it is deemed safe. I would be sorely disappointed if you were to ruin whatever tentative agreement could be reached between us."

Optics averted, wholly ashamed of himself, Bumblebee nodded and backed off to the far end of the underground room. He refused to leave though, hovering near the door but never exiting. He stayed to watch Prime's back, putting his duties above anything else.

Optimus sighed and walked the few steps back to the occupied cell where his "guests" waited for him, Barricade growling lowly while Flamewar continued to glare through narrowed optics.

"As I was saying before that brief interlude, is it possible to work out some form of assurance of your neutrality in exchange for your freedom? It does not necessarily have to mean defection."

Flamewar leaned forward. She hadn't suffered vorns upon the Darksyde without picking up a few things in bartering. "Then I believe negotiations are in order."

Quirking an optic ridge, Optimus appraised the femme. "Are they?" he asked wryly.

"Yes, they are," she replied curtly. "I want something from you and you want something from us; we negotiate until someone shoots the other. This is called _bargaining_, Prime."

"Is that how your business works?" Optimus asked dryly.

"I was a mercenary, not a diplomat. Business tended to be a little rougher in the crowds I worked for."

"I have no doubt," Optimus acquiesced.

"What, in terms of assurances, are you looking for?" she asked, watching him carefully.

The Autobot mulled over the question, gauging the mercenary and her mate. "First I would like to hear with my own audios what faction Barricade plans to be with."

They waited on the mech as he drew out the moment, cocking his head to the side as his processors whirred in thought. His gaze strayed to his mate for an astrosecond, watching her carefully before nodding to himself. "I choose to follow Flamewar," he announced. "I will be my own master as well." Without much care, his free hand came up to draw across his Decepticon decal, scratching a gouge through it.

"Very well," the Autobot Commander nodded, satisfied. "Then, in ways of a guarantee of this new found neutrality, perhaps you could supply us with information?"

"I'm no more informed of our kind than you are," Barricade snorted.

"No, you wouldn't, but Flamewar, on the other hand, is obviously more up-to-date than us." He turned to her. "Would you be willing to speak for yourself as well as your mate?"

"You want me to pay for both of us with information?" she enquired. Not the worse price anyone has ever asked of her, though information could get pricey too.

"If you see it that way, then yes," Optimus nodded. "If you truly are your own master, then you should have no problem giving up some information on your ex-faction to prove it."

"What of Soundwave?" Flamewar asked. "If he has been as agreeable as you say, he must have already given you this requested information. I know no more than him and will be of little help to whatever nefarious plot you wish to scheme."

"There is no nefarious plot in the works, only a few bots wanting to know how their own kind are faring. It's been so long since we've heard anything," Optimus sighed, gauging the flash that crossed Flamewar's optics. "He has already submitted his main arsenal into our care as well as allowed a tracer to be placed on his person. We have no doubt that he has the ability to disable the tracer at any given time, but in light of the good will he displayed by allowing us to place it on him in the first place, we decided to leave our requests of him to a minimum."

"Figures," Flamewar sniffed, obviously not surprised with Soundwave's seemingly easy defection. "He was done with the Decepticons the orn they tried to locate him to Quel-Caol; he's probably just using this as an excuse to finally scratch the decal off his chassis. How fortunate for you."

"For you as well," Optimus pointed out.

The femme nodded. "Indeed." She settled back, burning gaze sweeping from the towering commander to the minibot no taller than herself. "What information would suffice to pay for our freedom?"

Optimus leaned back against the opposite wall. "Tell me things only a Decepticon would know?"

The femme smirked. "Like what? Frenzy's favourite colour? You'll have to narrow the field down a bit if you want something, Prime."

"Status of the Decepticon army, then."

"That's a little better," she replied after a fashion. She could lie, and she knew it, but her loyalty had long since waned. If giving Prime this worthless information gained their freedom, then so be it. "The Decepticons are scattered, have been since Kaon fell. There are colonies spread across several planets in several systems, but no base would number over a hundred. The mechs are spread thin and are tired."

"Who is their leader now?"

A hollow laugh drifted from her. "There is no leader, no cause" she replied flatly. "Just fighting." There was something chilling in the way she said it. She leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "There are splinter groups everywhere and they fight amongst themselves as much as they fight with you Autobots. It makes working for them difficult."

Optimus appeared pensive as he thought over the information. "What splinter faction is considered the most dangerous?"

"The Chaar Seekers," she replied without even thinking. "They've got the greatest numbers and are probably the most volatile of any of the Decepticon groups." They were also rude, bawdy, a little too cheap on payment, and most likely to attempt a double cross on any contract rendered. "They're also the most likely group to come to Earth first. They'll be more than a little fragged off if they ever find out Starscream is dead."

"Then it would be pertinent for us to prepare for the Seekers," Optimus reasoned, nodding. "Is there anything else about the Decepticons you care to share?"

Flamewar mulled over the question for a bit. "Nothing much else to say," she shrugged.

"Do you know of the Autobots' status?"

"Bits and pieces," the femme shrugged. "You're just as bad off as the 'Cons, though a little more organized I suppose. Your forces are just as thin and tired, colonies here and there on different planets, stationed on different stations and hubs, but you don't number that many."

"How…" The flame-painted mech paused, his voice trailing off. "How many of us are left?"

Her optics shuttered, displaying for the first time a true sense of regret. "A few thousand, _maybe_. A thousand for each faction _if_ we're lucky," she murmured. "Neutrals are better off, they have maybe two or three thousand."

The sound of metal scraping against metal chilled the room as Bumblebee numbly slid his back down the wall, staring horrified at Flamewar. Optimus himself had to grasp at the wall behind him for support, too shocked to form words. A pained hiss issued from the femme and she leaned against her mate. Barricade was at a loss to convey comfort when all he felt was shell-shocked horror as well, but his arms went around the femme in an attempt to offer something to her.

"So few," Optimus breathed disbelievingly. They once numbered three-billion at the peak of the Golden Age, now reduced to a few thousand here and there.

"We've been fighting for a _long _time," Flamewar pointed out quietly, unable to look at Optimus now. "You didn't expect the killing to stop, did you?"

"No, of course not," he replied, having difficulty forcing the words out. "But when did this stop being a war and become a massacre?"

"Was there ever a distinction?"

The new voice made everyone jump. They'd been so preoccupied that they'd completely missed Ratchet's entrance until he appeared around the corner, looking as grave as any of them. He pointed to the security camera stationed in the far corner.

"I've been eavesdropping," he explained. His faceplate was dark, solemn, all his pain focused into his old, faded optics. "Is it really that bad?" he asked, gazing towards the lone femme.

She jerked her head away. "Worse," she replied.

The medic stepped gingerly over Bumblebee, who remained on the floor, and made his way over to the control panel near the occupied cell. The force field flickered before it fell, allowing the mech to enter. He knelt before Barricade with a scrap of black metal pinched between his fingers; the panel Flamewar had ripped off him the night before. The Saleen grunted, turning to allow the medic access to the area. Flamewar watched without interest before the chartreuse mech prompted her to speak.

"How could it be worse?"

She laughed bitterly. "How could it not?"

"What about Cybertron?"

"It's dead."

Ratchet hissed, pulling away from affixing the panel to Barricade.

Flamewar spared him no pity, continuing regardless. "Cybertron's been abandoned for vorns. That region of space is empty now. The only creatures left are the Junkions and the Scrapions, but they hardly count for anything."

Optimus nodded numbly. "I see…" Nothing she'd given over would give them a tactical advantage. If Mirage or Smokescreen had been conscious, they probably would have been able to report the same information. But, seeing as Flamewar had given them what they'd asked for with minimal resistance, Prime could do nothing but honour the arrangement they'd agreed upon. His shadowed gaze fell upon Ratchet's back as the medic fell back into his work, finishing up the quick repair. "Ratchet?"

"Almost done, Prime," he grunted, fingers deftly slipping beneath the cruiser's black armor and attaching something. He quickly did the same to Flamewar. He backed off quickly after that.

"Those are tracers," Prime explained, seeing the question on their faceplates. "Same kind as the one Soundwave was given. They will enable us to find you and contact you if there ever be any need to do so, like in the event you break your neutrality and attack the humans. The tracers will also give you access to a private frequency for this base if ever you should need our assistance. We won't be able to eavesdrop on you and likewise for us. All this is just precaution."

The two 'Cons stood in unison, looking menacing despite the fact that they were half the size of Prime himself; they glided from the cell to stand before the Autobot.

"And our weapons?" Barricade enquired.

"Against my better judgement, you may keep them, and Soundwave's will be returned to him. If you are going to remain Neutral on this planet, then some measure of trust is in order." The Commander waved Bumblebee over, laying a firm hand on the yellow mech's shoulder. "Bumblebee will escort you out." The tone in his voice made it clear that he expected the assignment to be carried out without incident.

Before they entered the lift that would take them to ground level, the Commander posed his last question. "Where will you go?"

Barricade seemed to take a moment to think but Flamewar did not even pause in her walk. "Somewhere where we can belong."

Knowing that his kind numbered few and was dwindling dangerously on the precipice of extinction, the Prime opened his arms to his once-enemies. "You may belong here among your own kind, if you wish."

A snort huffed through Barricade's vents, his head shaking disbelievingly. His femme rolled her optics. "We're homeless, Prime, not desperate." Bumblebee whistled to them impatiently and they conceded to follow him onto the lift, disappearing from sight.

As soon as the three bots were gone, Optimus shifted his tired gaze to the lone medic leaning against the empty cell's entrance. "Only a few thousand, Ratchet…"

"I know." He sounded a little hoarse. His frame creaked a little as he moved away from the entrance, stepping tiredly down the isle.

"Why are you really here, my friend?" Optimus enquired, watching the medic's movements carefully.

"Something's come up and I don't know what to make of it," he replied, optics shadowed.

The gravity with which the medic spoke caught his attention. "What do you mean?"

Ratchet motioned for him to follow. "I'll have to show you." On the heels of the first lift, the two mechs entered and were taken to ground level. They came up in one of the half-finished backrooms of the main control building, Ratchet taking the lead as they stepped out amongst the milling humans that wandered to and fro. Any sparse conversation they had was kept in Cybertronian at decibels too high for humans to hear.

Optimus glanced up to the looming building he was being led to. **"The med bay?" **

Ratchet simply nodded, pushing open the broad mech-sized doors set into the front of the towering building. It was one of the few buildings on the entire base that was very nearly finished, a strange mixture of Earthling and Cybertronian architecture that created high ceilings and large, light-catching windows, open, wide halls and softly hissing sliding doors. There was a duality in the building that was shared throughout most of the base; large mech-sized doors with smaller human-sized doors set into them. High windows near the ceiling to naturally light the medical building, smaller windows near the ground to offer a view to those who were not two stories tall. A few small human offices were located near the front of the building while Ratchet's medical facilities were located towards the back.

The recovery room Optimus was shown to was nothing special, simply a long, narrow room with berths lined along the walls. There were only two occupied, Mirage on one and Smokescreen on the other. Surprisingly, Mirage was conscious, supporting himself weakly on one arm as he spoke quietly with the human that was perched on the stand next to him. Upon the mechs' entrance, their conversation paused.

"Welcome back," Dr Spring greeted, smiling gently. "I hope everything went well."

"As well as can be expected," Ratchet replied, making his way to Mirage. "Thank you for watching over these two while I was away."

"It was my pleasure," the good doctor replied. "Mirage here woke up only a few minutes ago and we've been having the most wonderful conversation."

Ratchet harrumphed, staring down at the mech. "What Mirage should be doing is resting, not socializing."

"I wasn't over taxing myself," Mirage objected lightly, laying back with a little grimace. "Dr Spring was telling me of the new "guests" down in our brig right now. Care to enlighten me further?"

Optimus sent the human doctor an apologetic nod before switching to Cybertronian. **"Flamewar and Barricade have agreed to terms of Neutrality so they were released-."**

A long groan echoed from the Master Spy, his head falling back with a light metallic clang. _**"You didn't."**_

"**I did. We struck a deal, their freedom for information." **

"**My team and I have been tracking them for **_**vorns**_**, Prime, and you just let them go?" **

"**Yes." **

Mirage made a move to sit up, but Ratchet intervened, pushing him back down. **"I don't like it either, Mirage, but what can we do?" t**he medic huffed.

"**Keep them in the brig would be a good start," **the spy growled, and then coughed as something hitched in his intakes. **"They're dangerous. There's no way that I can reiterate that enough; the crew of the **_**Darksyde**_** are beyond dangerous. They're untrustworthy scum and if you think that releasing Flamewar onto the world will end with anything less than a massacre, then you have a glitch somewhere in your processor. Primus forbid Soundwave be let loose on this planet." **

Optimus looked away. **"He was released as well." **

"_**Optimus," **_the mech groaned, shaking his head. **"How could you?" **

"**Some things must be risked in order for something to be gained." **

"**What could possibly be gained from a risk like this?" **

"**New allies, a measure of peace between our factions? I'm trying to take the first steps in bringing this war to an end, Mirage. It's gone on for far too long and we have suffered at its hands for long enough. There's nothing to fight for anymore, so I'll do what it takes to end the fighting." **

Mirage's hand shook as he raised it to cover his faceplate. A choked sound came from him, and the listening human would have compared it to crying if she thought the alien robots were capable of crying. The entirety of his frame shuddered weakly. **"If you knew what it's been like since… since you left, you wouldn't think that way. There is no peace." **The choking sound got worse with the added sound of gears starting to grind and welding seams ripping. **"I can't believe you let them go- there's only fighting. No peace-." **

"**Mirage, please, calm down. Getting yourself worked up like this will do you no good," **Ratchet warned.

"**You released them. How could you?" **Mirage whined, deaf to Ratchet's warnings. He continued to shake and choke.

Ratchet was quick to administer a tranquilizer to an exposed energon line on the mech, and soon enough Mirage was silent and still. **"He's still unstable," **he reasoned.

Optimus's expression was dark. **"Was this what you wanted to show me?"**

"**No, I was only coming to check up on him, but it seems we got a little more than we bargained for." **

"**Indeed." **

Ratchet switched back to English to speak with the awaiting doctor, who looked a little more anxious than before. "Will you be willing to watch over them for a little while longer?" he asked.

After a moment she nodded. "Sure." She glanced to Mirage worriedly. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine," the medic assured, turning to leave. "I will only be gone for a short while. Thank you for your help, Dr Spring."

She smiled, a little more weakly this time, and said, "No trouble at all, Ratchet." She nodded to Optimus, who returned the gesture before leaving.

At the very back of the medical centre was Ratchet's office, complete with a small room off to the side that served as his own room so he could recharge in close proximity to his patients in case something happened. A long stretch of blank wall stared out dully from behind the metal desk in the room, which slid open to reveal a secret lift the moment Ratchet entered the appropriate code into his makeshift computer on the desk. The lift and the levels below were of the Autobots' own construction, dug with their own hands. The humans had no idea of its existence.

Knowing what precious things laid at the bottom of the shaft, Optimus's gaze flickered from the dark entrance to the medic waiting for him. "Has something happened-?"

"Perhaps." He motioned for the other mech to follow. Soon, they were falling into the depths of the Earth, deeper still than the brig, as stale air rushed up to the meet them and blow dust in their faceplates. The shaft bottomed out in a darkened underground cavern, lightless except for what reflected off the two mechs' optics. A switch was turned and stark white lights blazed on, illuminating the crystal-lined cave. It was a mammoth underground space, carved out possibly millions of years ago when the Earth was still young and cooling, larger than any building being built above ground. The cavern literally glittered as the low hanging lights reflected off of the millions of crystals that jutted from the walls, shattering the light into billions of sparkles and rainbows.

In the centre of the cave of wonders, amongst rock and crystal, were two berths. One was laden with the dead frame of a mech, signs of repair obvious with a few tools laying scattered next to still limbs. The other berth appeared empty at first glance, but upon closer inspection, a small shard of metal sat innocuously in the middle.

"Why have you brought me here?" Optimus asked gravely, his voice echoing hollowly.

"To show you this." Ratchet made his way towards the berth where the Allspark shard laid, picking it up in reverent hands. "Scan it."

Suspicious of the demand, Optimus acquiesced to it, only to be shocked at what he found. Ratchet rumbled in satisfaction. "So you picked it up too? It wasn't just a sensor malfunction?"

The flame-painted mech scanned the shard again. "It's impossible."

"Apparently not if it's happened," Ratchet grunted, placing the shard back down. "Ever since Mirage and Smokescreen's arrival, not to mention the arrivals of the Decepticons, the Allspark has increased in mass by exactly .5 cubic millimetres."

A wild thrill zinged through the Autobot Commander, his faceplate open with shock. "Do you mean to tell me that the Allspark is… _regenerating?_"

"Yes."

* * *

Maggie fidgeted nervously once more in her seat, her tapered fingers absently tracing over the loaded gun in her lap. It was heavy and cold, too threatening to ever feel comfortable in her hands. She stared out the window at the bleak, foggy coastal region they were now driving through, staring out over the craggy rocks and powerful grey surf as it passed by. She didn't remember what this section of the coast was called. All she knew was that it was deserted and that there wasn't another human around for miles. Not far ahead, a rust-coloured aberration on the green and grey landscape jutted up from the tree line. There was nothing about that that was even remotely human, which meant that it was exactly the thing she and her to cohorts had been tracking down for the past few days.

A manicured nail caught on the trigger of the gun and Maggie's heart beat a little faster. She didn't like guns. She didn't want to have to use the one that had been thrust into her hands. To be honest, she was more terrified than anything. She'd never let on to anyone, but all of the Cybertronians scared her, the Decepticons more than the Autobots, but they were both big, and so alien, and even if there was no reason to fear the Autobots, the simple thought of what could happen if they ceased to be allies…

Even the sabot rounds scared her. That was just too much power to be held in such a tiny weapon.

Her shudder did not go unnoticed by her other human team mate. Reaching out a large, warm hand, he took one of hers from her lap and squeezed it. A gentle gasp slipped passed her lips, her eyes darting to his before looking away.

"Hey, it's okay," Epps murmured.

A light snort drifted through her nose. "We're about to face down three Decepticons from a crew we've been told are extremely dangerous in the middle of nowhere with basically zero back-up." Her eyes were scared when they met Epps' gaze. "It's not okay."

"You've got nothing to worry about," Epps assured, his voice soft. Sure, if Maggie had been any one of his rough-and-tumble comrades, his voice wouldn't be as soft as it was right now, and he wouldn't be holding their hand trying to reassure them, but there was something about this girl…

Maggie tugged her hand away, shaking her head gently as she did. "That doesn't stop me from being scared," she replied, woman enough to admit when she was scared. "It's Ironhide against three of them, if something goes wrong, we're done for."

A frown tugged at the tech sergeant's lips, his brow furrowing. He completely dropped the façade of driving. "Ironhide won't let anything happen to you, and neither will I."

"_Bobby-," _

"No, I mean it, Maggie. I'll do my best to make sure nothing happens to you." He unbuckled himself and slid across to drape an arm around the woman's thin shoulders. "I've seen the biggest, baddest robot the 'Cons have and I watched him go down. These three are going to be a piece of cake."

"Epps is right," Ironhide interjected.

Her lips pursed tighter, her eyes rolling. "You two really shouldn't underestimate the enemy," she warned, shrugging out from underneath Epps' arm. "They may surprise you."

"I doubt that," Ironhide replied flatly, slowing down as he approached the end of the road that would lead him into the woods where the _Invader_ sat.

"Looks like we're going to have to rough it on foot," Epps announced, sliding from the cab. He hefted his own gun comfortably against his shoulder. "Let's go kick some robot ass."

Maggie trotted along side the sergeant as Ironhide transformed. She glanced back to the black-armored giant as he took his first steps into the thick pine woods, parting the trees to the point of snapping them in half.

"What did you say their names were?" she enquired lightly, distracting herself for as long as possible.

Ironhide sighed, indulging the human. "Their leader's designation is Virus, while the cohorts' designations are Trojan Horse and Worm." It had been interesting to discover that while so few things could be directly translated from Cybertronian to English, the names of the three rogue mercenaries actually held rough equivalents on Earth.

"It's kind of weird that they're all named after computer viruses," Maggie replied, having to double her pace to keep up with Ironhide as he ploughed himself a path.

"If you knew what they could do, you would understand," he rumbled darkly. Two large spruce trees shuddered before cracking in half, opening into a small clearing that had been forcefully expanded with the landing of a spacecraft. Ironhide growled as two thick, shuffling shapes appeared around the hull and started towards them. His cannons rolled out of his arms, charging. The two shapes that approached revealed as Worm and Trojan, moving slowly and favouring certain limbs as they moved. They appeared to have been beaten pretty badly but patched back together in recent days. Their approach instantly halted when Ironhide's cannons rose to their chests.

"**Where is Virus?"**

The two mechs, easily Ironhide's match in bulk but shorter in height, glanced to each other and sagged. One of them gestured to the far side of the clearing where a craggy rock cliff face opened up over the choppy Atlantic Ocean. Ironhide continued to glare while the pair of mechs silently slouched off, making absolutely no move towards hostility.

"That was… easy," Epps commented, unusually unsettled.

"Something is off," Ironhide growled darkly, stalking forward. He was the first to round the hull of the small, rusted ship, his companions following at length behind him, Maggie creeping along just behind Epps' shoulder. The fog off the water clung heavily to the clearing and the cliff face, smearing a dark outline into a vague black hump on the edge of the rock. A hollow, grinding sigh rustled the air, but otherwise, it was silent.

A hateful growl vibrated through the weapons specialist's entire frame as his gaze fell on the still pile of metal. The whirr of his charging cannons broke the heavy silence, the heat of the super-charged plasma evaporating the mist in the near vicinity. **"Virus." **

Another sigh heaved through the creature.

"**Turn and face me, Virus," **the black mech demanded.

A head moved, angling up, red optics glinting in the grey light before shuttering once and turning away, laying back down on the rock.

Incensed by the lack of response, Ironhide stepped closer, plasma just barely keep in the barrel of his weapons. **"I said turn and face me, Decepticon, or I'll blow this fragging cliff to dust along with you on it." **

A distant snort huffed from the beast. **"Go ahead, do it. I don't care," **she dared without any heat in her voice. She sounded depressed, dead. Not at all what Ironhide was expecting. Instead of letting his guard down, his suspicions grew.

"What's the matter with it?" Maggie asked in a small voice.

Ironhide huffed, warm air wafting down through his vents to breeze against the humans. "I do not know."

The sound of Maggie's voice caught Virus's attention long enough for her to raise her head, glance their way, and manage a weak growl before falling back to continue to stare out at the ocean. **"He's gone." **She sighed.

Ironhide knew instantly who she was speaking of. **"Yes, Megatron is dead. He was destroyed in battle." **A long, low keening noise rattled from Virus.** "You have no business being here, Decepticon, so I suggest you leave. If you don't, I will use deadly force to remove you." **The way he said it made it sound like he was hoping for a chance to use deadly force.

Virus was unaffected by the threat. She gave off a sound that could have been a pained whine, lost in her own depression. _**"Megatron." **_

"**I have orders to ensure your removal from the area and I will carry them out with whatever force deemed necessary," **Ironhide pressed, unmoved by the quadruped's displays.

Finally, the beast moved, heaving herself up onto her four legs so that she stood at her full height, easily a head taller than Bumblebee. Maggie gasped, backing away, while Epps tensed and moved to protect the woman. To them, she looked like a mechanical bear, albeit one larger than any other bear on the planet. Her faceplate was grotesque, it was almost flattened with high crests rising from her forehead in great spikes, while deep set red optics smouldered in the far-too-spaced-apart structure of her faceplate; the 'muzzle' section was too short, but very wide, lined with several rows of pin-like metal teeth. She moved in the same hunkering, heavy fashion as a bear, swaying a little as she stepped forward, crusts formed on the thick layers of rusted black armor scrapping together noisily.

"She's covered in salt," Maggie murmured into Epps' ear, though Ironhide heard her regardless.

Eyeing the dried deposits along the beast's armor, Ironhide was struck with a very ludicrous thought. Could Virus have possibly attempted diving into the ocean to drag her precious Megatron back up? It was utterly ridiculous to think someone would actually do that- Cybertronians were made of metal: water, especially large quantities of it containing salt, did not mix well with them. But as Virus took another step forward, a dusting of scraped off sea salt fluttered from her.

"**Remove me then, Autobot," **she challenged.** "Use whatever force you want, just kill me." **

A disgusted snort rattled from the mech, finding the invitation hard to resist. His conscience, which sounded a little too much like Optimus at the moment, was urging him to get information first before opening fire. **"Why are you here?" **

"**They dragged me here after they took me away from **_**him**_**," **she replied dully, swinging her head towards the two mechs that lingered nearby, watching silently.

"**You were at the Laurentian Abyss?" **

"**Yes."**

"**You tried to retrieve Megatron's corpse?' **

"**No." **Her head dropped, shaking slowly from side to side. **"I tried to die with him. I wanted to lie with him in his grave." **A brief glare was aimed at Trojan and Worm. **"**_**They**_** wouldn't let me." **

"**Is that so?" **he replied dryly.

"**Yes." **

"**I would have thought revenge would be more in order, not this. This doesn't seem very "Decepticon" at all," **he mused darkly.

A grating, choking noise fell from between clenched metal teeth. **"Megatron's gone. There are no Decepticons anymore!" **

"**Then I guess it won't matter if I remove some of the remnants from the universe." **

"**Do it already. I'm not going anywhere." **

"**My pleasure," **he made a move to shoot, but tiny hands tapping quickly on his foot made him look down.

"What are you doing?! You're not supposed to attack without cause! It hasn't done anything yet for you to shoot!" Maggie reprimanded. She ignored the fact that she was defending a Decepticon; from what she'd seen so far, the four-legged robot didn't exactly look like it was trying to provoke anyone. It was slow and slumped. If it was human, Maggie would almost call it depressed.

"She's there- that's reason enough."

"No, it's not! Optimus wouldn't want us to start something that would level this place and draw so much attention!" the woman argued. Briefly, she picked up the use of the "she" pronoun but hardly spared enough thought to ponder it.

Epps attempted to draw Maggie away. He had absolutely no trouble with Ironhide blowing the robo-bear's head off. One less Decepticon in the world. She shook away from him quickly.

"No, Bobby, don't! I hate Decepticons as much as the next person, but killing something just for the sake of killing something is sinking to their level!"

A harsh snort ripped from Ironhide, thoroughly insulted with the accusation. "You do not understand what this creature has done."

"Maybe if you told us what you've been talking about!"

The mech paused, and then shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me even if I translated."

Virus watched the exchange through dull, distant optics, hardly curious of the organic life forms squeaking and squawking away at the Autobot. The creatures were similar to the ones that had been gathering in the mountains; the herd there had gotten too close and were eradicated. These two were closer still. She made a move to stretch out a foreleg and bat them away, but found a cannon in her faceplate before she could get close.

"**Try it, I dare you. That's all the reason I need." **

"**So now you need a reason to kill me?" **Virus growled. **"That doesn't sound like what I've heard of the great and terrible Autobot weapons specialist. I know I've done you wrong on more than one occasion. Go on, kill me for it." **

The temptation was almost too great, but Maggie's words were too clear in his processor, as was the Optimus-Prime-voice-of-his-conscience. It irritated him to no end to know he needed due cause to shoot. He was no ambassador, nor a diplomat. He didn't play nice with Decepticons. _Not_ killing was probably one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.

"**Trust me, Decepticon, if I didn't hold more loyalty for Prime than hatred for you, you'd be nothing more than a smear on the landscape by now. As it stands, all I need is a reason, any tiny fragging thing, and I swear I'll give you death in the worse ways possible." **

Menacing light glinted in the quadruped's optics, new fire suddenly simmering. Megatron waited for her on the other side of oblivion and all she needed was to frag this trigger-happy gun turret off to go there. **"Fine, you need a reason, I'll give you a reason." **She leapt forward, charging her Autobot executioner.

In a flash, the two previously watching mechs dove into the fray, Trojan grabbing Virus around the neck to haul her back while Worm shoved Ironhide's cannons upwards so the twin blasts shot off into the atmosphere. A snarled ripped from the Autobot, tearing one arm free to punch the attacking Decepticon in the faceplate. Injured as he was, Worm went down hard, flailing hands clawing at his caved in faceplate.

Epps was instantly at the ready, gun out and ready to fire. Maggie attempted the same but fumbled and dropped her weapon. Upon hitting the hard ground, it discharged, striking Virus's shoulder in a shower of hot sparks.

"Oh damn!" she hissed, scrambling to grab her gun.

"Maggie, get back!" Epps ordered, pushing her back towards the relative safety of the _Invader_'s hull. "See! This is why you shoot first and ask questions later!"

Virus's roar shattered the air, rearing back from the strike. Trojan took the opportunity to shove his master back further, careful of her injury and his own. Worm, his faceplate oozing energon from the deep cracks Ironhide rendered, dragged himself from the ground to help Trojan fend Virus off.

"**I don't care! I don't care!" **the beast snarled over and over, as if the two mechs were saying something to her. **"Let me go! You don't need me! Just let me go!" **

Watching the display with barely veiled disgust, Ironhide moved to take aim once more, but paused at he listened to Virus voice her one-sided argument. It was truly one of the most pathetic things he's ever witnessed. Offering a brief distraction from the distraught bot, a communication request suddenly scrawled across Ironhide's peripherals. Noting that it was from Optimus, he weighed his options and figured that the call was probably worth more than the 'Cons. Obviously Virus and her cohorts weren't going anywhere; he could shoot them later.

"**Stay where you are," **he commanded sternly as he backed away to the other side of the clearing, keeping his targeting sensors locked on them regardless. Braver than he gave him credit for, Epps remained stationed in front of Maggie, protecting her from the perceived threat as well as guarding against them as Ironhide backed off.

"What's going on, 'Hide? Give me some feedback here," Epps demanded.

"Optimus Prime is requesting contact. I'm accepting."

"Is this _really_ the time?" Maggie asked, clearly incredulous.

Ironhide flicked a flat glance Virus's way. The fire that had reignited in her dull optics was dying again, her protests getting weaker. He stared her down for a good long breem before her optics faded to a near black and all the life drained from her again. Her pitiful whine of **"**_**Megatron," **_was nearly lost in the thunderous sound of her legs giving out and her frame crashing back to the ground, careless about the amount off rocks she was collecting in her abdominal plating. He growled, "They're not going anywhere," before opening the channel to Prime and speaking, **"There better be a good explanation for calling, Prime." **

"_**Don't worry, there is," **_the mech replied, his warm voice flooding the channel.

"**Then let's have it," **the mech demanded curtly.

"_**As you'll probably be horrified to know, I have just had the most interesting conversations with several of the mercenaries from the **_**Darksyde-."**

"**You what?!" **

"**-**_**Most interesting of them all was the private conversation Soundwave initiated with me shortly after they were released-." **_

"**You released them?!" **

"_**Yes, well, it's too long of a story to relate right now, but sufficed to say, we have ourselves tentative allies, one of which who has offered to take Virus off our hands in exchange for an extended hand of Neutrality towards her. Since Soundwave seemed to be under the impression that Virus would not be in her right processor once she found Megatron's corpse, he is more than willing to take command of the crew of the **_**Darksyde **_**in her stead, meaning that he will be coming to collect her." **_

"**And you believed him? Have you finally lost it?" **

"_**I assure you, I am in my right processor-."**_

"**Can I get a medical confirmation on that from Ratchet?" **

"_**Ironhide-." **_

"**Alright, I trust you, but don't expect me to trust that 'Con, or any other you might be chatting up with down there." **No, there was no way in the pit he was trusting any 'Con. Least of all these 'Cons. **"And since you seem to be on such good terms with your new friends tell him to hurry if he wants to see the rust bucket alive." **

"_**Ironhide, don't you dare-." **_The warning tone in Optimus voice was clear.

"**Not me! She'll be offing herself any moment now with or without my help." **

A sigh echoed over the line loud and clear. _**"Simply back off for the time being until Soundwave can get there to take her into his custody," **_Optimus ordered. _**"I know it's difficult for you to understand at the moment, but once you're back, I'll explain fully." **_

"**You better. You owe me that much." **Being ordered not to shoot a 'Con was a high price in his books. Lest the conversation turn into a spat, Ironhide bid his Commander goodbye and closed the channel, turning back to Virus with narrowed optics. She was now aimlessly drawing patterns in the dirt with her claws. Worm and Trojan had disappeared somewhere, though Maggie and Epps remained exactly where he'd left them. "We're leaving," he grunted, turning to tromp back into the woods.

"Are you serious? Just like that?" Epps demanded, trotting after the mech. "We're just going to _leave_ that thing there?"

"Does it look like I'm happy about it?" Ironhide groused, glaring straight ahead. "Someone's on their way to collect her."

"Optimus is coming?" Maggie enquired.

Ironhide's gaze narrowed. "No."

Her lips pursed as her brow furrowed. "Don't tell me they're sending up more ex-S7 goons. That's just a slaughter waiting to happen."

"Worse," the mech grunted acidly.

"Simmons himself is coming up?" Epps asked, clearly horrified.

"I would almost prefer that amoeba to the mech coming," Ironhide growled contemptuously, bursting out from the tree line like a bull and almost violently transforming back into truck mode. "Soundwave is coming," he spat.

"Who?" the two humans coursed in unison as they scrambled inside the cab.

"A Decepticon," the Topkick rumbled blackly. "Someone you would do best never to be acquainted with."

* * *

Virus lolled onto her side, allowing the dirt to fill her intakes as she dragged in musty air, and then blew it out her vents in a rush of leaves and dust. She hardly noticed the Autobot's exit. There wasn't a whole lot she was taking notice of at the moment, actually. The all-consuming blanket of black depression was wrapped too firmly around her to allow anything beyond a shallow acknowledgement that her spark still pulsed while Megatron's didn't.

A pained whine drifted from her. _Megatron. _Her precious, strong, impossible-to-be-beaten Megatron, laying at the bottom of a Primus forsaken alien ocean, rusting like a piece of thrown away scrap metal. Every molecule of her being felt infused with lead, like she was heavy and sinking into the depths of the cold, unforgiving rock. She wished she was dead. More than anything, she wished she'd put her maw around that Autobot's cannon and let him fire off a round.

This felt worse than when she'd lost her lover all those vorns ago. Back then, she'd had rage to fall back on. The thirst for vengeance. She had Megatron there, whispering in her audio that the Autobots had raided the Kaon gladiatorial ring and her lover had been lost in the explosion that had ensued. It had been him that had stared at her with those wonderful, cold, malignant optics and told her that she could serve him loyally and take out as many Autobots as she wanted in order to satiate her insane need for revenge.

Losing Megatron was worse than losing her lover, because now she had no one.

It was much, much worse. The programming she'd been brought online with as a pre-program, the lines of code Bludgeon had written for her that told her processor unequivocally that she was to worship Megatron above all else, screamed that his death was beyond any given tragedy the universe would ever bare witness to. The agony of her mourning felt like a constricted fire in her frame.

She wished for death. More than anything, she wished for death. And she hated her cohorts more than anything for caring for her too much to simply let her die. Instead of finding her rightful death in the watery grave of her beloved master, she was now stuck in the land of the living with the most silently annoying watchdogs ever, both peeking their optics out from where they were hiding in the ship to make sure she didn't fling herself off the ship.

"Frag the both of you," she muttered darkly.

The dirt near her head shifted, announcing the approach of one of the banes of her existence. Worm dropped to the ground and laid a hand to her head.

"Go away unless you want your hand bitten off," she growled flatly. The hand jerked away but the mech did not leave. Worm and Trojan had been with her too long her not to be able to read the silence that radiated from the mech. "No, I will not get over this, and you're a slag-head for thinking that."

A small sigh of air drifted from the mech.

"I don't care if you two are trying to help- I would have preferred you help me die. Now spit out what you're really out here for and then get lost." She paused, rumbling sourly as Worm shifted, his hands moving as if he really were in the middle of speaking. When he was finished, Virus hissed and rolled over so that she could stare at the thickset mech. "What do you mean Nightshade is trying to bridge a channel between the Double-cross and the _Invader_? How the pit is she doing that? Where the pit is the _Double-cross_?"

Trojan peered out a grimy window and waved down to them. Virus snorted dispassionately. "Are you kidding me? She hacked into the ship's mainframe and forced a connection? That little fragging glitch." Trojan waved a little more quickly. "I'm not hurrying for any damn bot, you half-bit. I don't care if Swindle is waiting."

At her own damn pace, slower than usual, she made her way up the crooked, rust-ridden ramp into the small ship and shuffled to the already active view-screen. It was an ancient, monochromatic, static-choked, screen that Swindle could barely be seen through. The quadruped sat down hard on her haunches and glared dully, failing to summon any of her usual fire.

"What do you want, Swindle?"

"Can't a friend call upon another friend for a favour?"

"Yeah, they can. Too bad we're not friends." She flopped to the floor, making the entire ship rattle dangerously on its landing struts. "I don't feel like fragging around with you right now, or ever, so get to the point quick."

"I was hoping to cut a deal with you," Swindle proposed.

"With me and the rest of the universe," the quadruped growled, not even bothering to look at the screen anymore. Her head simply flopped to the side and stared at the wires peeking out from the hole-filled wall.

"That's generally the idea," Swindle shrugged. "But, for now, I was just hoping to settle for you."

Heaving a pained sigh, Virus shrugged. "Well, you got me."

"I was hoping that you'd put your… 'special talents' to use for me?"

At this, Virus perked up, but only marginally. "Mastermind contacted you, didn't he?"

"Yes, and he's requested an Autobot, but, as we both well know, you're one of the experts at gathering that kind of material, not me. You'll be privy to part of the pay in return for the favour."

"Fifty percent," she demanded disinterestedly.

"Not _that_ privy," Swindle replied tightly. "I was thinking ten percent."

"Not on your life. Thirty percent."

"Twenty."

"Twenty-five or I walk away and you can tell Mastermind why you don't have his requested material."

"Fine. Twenty-five, but no more."

A sigh fell from her vents and she glanced at the view screen, squinting a little in order to see Swindle through the static. "Very well, twenty-five percent. We will be in touch once I've acquired the appropriate information for you."

"Thank you."

"Just frag off, Swindle." The channel closed and Virus rolled onto her feet again, heaving back onto her haunches so her dirt-caked underside was exposed. Her rusted interface panel popped open and her unnaturally dextrous claws tugged out the tangle cable. "Trojan, come here." The mech approached without an ounce of disgust for the state of Virus's internals. He simply dropped to the floor before and opened his own interface panel.

She knew she could do this without him, easily in fact, connecting to that one precious source of information she could connect to ephemerally and access how she pleased, but Trojan Horse's talents helped her get in and out unnoticed. The most important thing was leaving no trace.

With practised ease, Trojan's cable inserted into her port, shadowing her processes while Virus inserted her cable into the main transceiver port of the console of the ship. They sat unmoving for countless breems, almost a joor, drifting through space. Searching. Finding that little beacon of blackness that somehow called out to them. A brief shudder suddenly wracked Virus.

She connected.


	12. Nightmares

This chapter just flowed from the tips of my fingers; I was so surprised with the speed that the words came out! I've attempted editing this thing to death myself, but I know my critical eye isn't exactly 20/20. As usual, thanks in advance for not breathing down my neck about the nitpicky mistakes you see- I know they're there and I will get them eventually.

A lot goes on in this chapter, so don't blink! There are a few things touched upon in this chapter that might be more easily understood if one read a few of the WE one-shots, such as _Make Me Feel_, _What's if feel like to be a Ghost?,_ and _Before I Fade Away_.

_Loki- _The Norse god of mischief and darkness. Also the name of Sideswipe's merchant ship. Fitting, eh?

My sincerest, grandest, most humble thanks to my dearest readers and reviewers. All of you have been so kind and wonderful that every time I see your reviews, I get a tickly little smile on my face, especially the reviews from the readers so avidly following my WE universe. You know who you are- you are simply the best of the best! Thank you to **Elita On, Jason M. Lee, Freakish Child, Daebereth, Flameshield, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, Bunnylass, lady tecuma**, and **Silveriss**. Thank you so much!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which We Bare Witness to Nightmares**

_I know there's something wrong with me._

_Sometimes...I dream. _

_I know I shouldn't, but I do. _

_My species doesn't dream. Our memory files replay in a loop when we recharge. We get to see a replay of our orns, our pasts. That's all that's supposed to happen; a replay of events. I'm not supposed to see __**new**__ things. I'm not supposed to experience things I haven't done. _

_I don't know why, but I do. _

_Perceptor and Jetfire don't know what to make of it. I think they're starting to not believe me. Maybe they're finally starting to believe I'm crazy. I wouldn't doubt it. Or maybe they think it's a cry for attention. It's not. I need help. I __**really**__ need help. _

_Chromia believes me, though. She always does. She's one of the few. She fights with Perceptor and Jetfire every time, but the fights draw out longer and longer each time she tries to convince them the dreams are real. She won't say anything, but I know she's getting desperate. I'd never say anything about it, though. I'm afraid of what might happen if I do. I hate feeling afraid. I'm afraid all the time now. _

_Like now _

_I can feel another dream setting in, because the memory review that's playing goes fuzzy, and then fizzles out. It's dark for a long time and sometimes I wonder if I'm dead. It only happens from time to time, once every couple of vorns, but every time it scares me. It scares me more than anything. When I can see again, it's almost as if I'm online because I'll be laying in the berth that I had lain down to recharge in. I can see the ceiling. The walls. The crater Chromia put in the far wall after a fight with Perceptor. _

_I can't sit up though. I can't move. I'm never able to. _

_I can't even feel my own frame._

_I'm not in control. _

_In these dreams, someone else is. I can feel them in the back of my processor, lurking around dark thoughts. They see through my optics, hear through my audios. My frame moves without me thinking, legs swinging out over the berth, standing up. I stumble to the floor, but I can't feel it when my head crashes to the hard, cold metal. Whoever uses me in these dreams isn't very good at using me as a puppet; I watch as my own frame jerks up, seemingly moving against its will. Like a puppet. Clumsy feet stumble to the run down desk in the corner, numb fingers grabbing at the small computer abandoned there. _

_The tapping sound of my fingers dancing over the keyboard fills the room and yet I feel no pressure under the thin digits. I'm not typing, someone else is. My optics stare at the screen for countless breems without taking anything in. I know that the being pulling at my strings is staring hard through my hazy optics. I wish I could turn my head to deny them what they want to see in these dream, but my frame is not subject to my will in this world. Someone else is my master. _

_Different things fly past the screen, catching my attention briefly. Strange access codes that look more like viral programs popping up, slithering through firewalls. Sometimes, in these dreams, the monster that controls me looks for top secret information and it hacks its way in and then erases every trace of the hack on the way out. Other times, they look for silly things, like flight plans, crew manifests, rosters and schedules. Today it's just flight plans. _

_They have what they want._

_The dream is almost over now. _

_I can feel the force inside me drawing out. It always feels like there's claws latching on to my insides and dragging outward, pulling everything with them. Turning me inside out. And then the presence is gone and I'm empty and cold and weak. _

_I always try stumbling back to my berth once I get control of my frame back. I never know why I try, I never make it. It doesn't really matter though; this is just a dream. When I online, I'll be in my berth. I'll online and everything will be as if it never happen._

_No, that's a lie. I won't be in my berth. I'll be on floor, exactly where I fall in my dream. I used to think it was because the dreams were real, but that's impossible, so now I think it's because I walk during recharge, which is the lesser of two impossibles. My kind's motor functions are supposed to shut down during recharge; we're paralyzed. It's impossible to move. But, of course, it's also impossible for my kind to dream. _

_Finally, falling to the floor and curling up, numb and shaking, I black out and the memory reviews start up again. _

_Like I said, I know there's something wrong with me. _

* * *

Strained optics flickered as exhaustion radiated from every molecule in his frame. The stack of looming reports leered at him sparklessly from across his desk, seemingly growing higher with every passing breem. It felt like he was being mocked, which was completely illogical to think, especially since his emotional center was shut down and he'd been running on pure logic for the past seven orns. Illogical thought at this point in the game probably meant he was a lot more tired than any mech had the legal right to be. But, feeling mocked he was as those damn reports simply sat there, staring at him, not going anywhere. For a breem, he paused to shutter his optics and try to still his shaking hands, but the moment he tried, he was assaulted by the dozens of mounting alerts and warnings for him to recharge, refuel, recalibrate, turn his emotional centre back on, and see a medic immediately. Instantly, his optics were open and he felt more nauseated than before. The shaking in his hands worsened. He dragged air in through his intakes and let it out in a shuddering rush through his vents.

"_Frag," _he cursed gently, followed by another curse, and another. He wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. Seven orns was his limit unless he wanted to be placed under medical observation. Again. For the millionth time that orn alone, Prowl wished Jazz were with him. At first he thought he could handle the mech's absence, handle it like every other time one of them was away on mission, but as the vorns wore on, the cracks began to show. At this point, the cracks had worn so deep they might never go away.

Startling Prowl from his dark musings, there was a light chirp at the door and Jetfire stepped in. The scientist looked a little more chipper than usual, but his good mood immediately clouded once catching sight of Prowl's deteriorating condition.

"This is sick and wrong what you're doing to yourself," the mech said softly, carefully making his way into the darkened office. It had been a very long time since Prowl had been healthy and right. It had been a long time since Jazz had been around.

Prowl's hands reached for the mountain of reports. "I need to get these finished. I just need a few more joors. That's all. Only a few."

The gargantuan mech was surprisingly quiet and delicate as he made his way toward Prowl, careful not to make any sudden moves while the tactician sat on the very brink of snapping. "You won't last a few joors," he warned. "Let me access your systems and turn your emotional center back on. I'm sure I can dampen the backlash for you-." He reached out to the storm-grey mech, only to have Prowl recoil. Too many images of Jazz reaching out to him like that, delving in and easing the pain, came at him and caused his spark to throb painfully.

"I'm fine, Jetfire," Prowl growled. "I know my limits."

"And yet you try to defy them every time," the scientist chastised. "One of these orns, First Aid is going to get tired of having to reset your motherboards after stints like these and he'll install a blockade so you won't be able to abuse you emotional centre anymore."

Ignoring both the threat and the severe shaking in his frame, Prowl reached for a data pad and attempted to comprehend the information on it. When it became obvious he didn't have enough ability left in him to focus on the report, he sighed in disgust and set the data pad down. Glancing up at Jetfire, Prowl fixed him with the coldest look he could muster, one that could easily freeze energon solid. "State your business being here, Jetfire, or leave me in peace."

The mech sighed, nodding. He'd drawn the short straw on the bridge when everyone was deciding who should go to Prowl this time with the important information. Everyone else made damn sure to steer clear. "Yes, of course… Well, you see, I have some very, very good news that I'm sure you'll be happy to hear."

"Oh?" The lilt in the jet's voice made Prowl slightly curious of this 'good news'.

A brilliant smile broke out across the mech's faceplate, beaming down at the tactician rooted to his seat. "Oh, the whole station is buzzing about it! But, knowing you, you haven't left this room in orns and haven't heard a damn thing-."

"Your assumption would be correct." No need to lie about it.

"Well, a deep space message was picked up a few joors ago. Apparently, it's been piggybacked through several bots, ships, stations…" he glanced to the list in his hand. "A few of which are Mirage and crew on the _Uller_, Blaster on the _Di-Di-Arr_, and Wheeljack, all of which are en route to the coordinates specified in said message." The grin in on the mech's face widened. "You'll never guess the original sender."

Jetfire was sounding a little too much like a gossipy Bluestreak for it to be any normal bot. "Who?" Prowl enquired dryly.

With a good-natured chuckle, Jetfire set down a data pad and pressed a single button, allowing the audio message on it to play, filling the office with the warm, dreadfully familiar warm tones of the rightful leader of the Autobots.

"_Optimus Prime," _the tactician breathed disbelievingly.

"Bingo," Jetfire chimed happily.

Prowl was standing before he even knew it, leaning over the data pad with searching optics as he listened to the recorded message being played. That voice. Even though it was the voice of the Supreme Commander, the smooth baritone of Optimus Prime himself after so long of silence, not knowing, assuming the worst, Prowl's processor was summoning up images of a specific mech that happened to be with Optimus. Silver paint, dark visor, handsome faceplate, cocky attitude- _Primus,_ he missed Jazz.

The scientist bounced a little on the tips of his feet as the messaged played down, the grin and sparkles about his faceplate impossible to wipe away. "The _Uller_ even sent coordinates to a short cut when they piggybacked the message. Apparently there's a wormhole in the Beta-Zen region."

"Beta-Zen… that's-" Dizziness swept through the tactician as overrides on his emotional center fought to engage and the program reinitiate itself. He was forced to sit down, too overwhelmed by the sheer awe he was feeling to keep standing for much longer. It put further strain on his offlined emotional centre. Faded optics stared at the data pad as if trying to correctly calculate the chances of that entire message being a hoax.

Worried by Prowl's lack of response, Jetfire reached out to lay a hand on the mech's shoulder. "Hey, I thought you'd like to hear something like this. It _is_ good news, right?"

A storm-grey head snapped up quickly, optics flashing. "Of course it's good news. This is the best news any of us have heard in a long while. I am simply… trying to wrap my processor around it."

"It takes a moment, doesn't it?" The scientist smiled, basking in the idea that their commander was still out there. While the message did contain the devastating news that the Allspark was gone, every bot tangled up in the damn war was tired of wallowing in bad news, there was always bad news, they were choosing to celebrate this rare good news of the Commander and their new home "Earth" rather than dwell on the gloom.

But, for Prowl, it was too much of a moment. If Jetfire did not leave soon, he would bare witness to a breakdown the likes of which the Tri-Omega Observatory Space Station has never seen. The shaking in Prowl's hands was so bad now he could barely grasp the ledge of his desk, the alerts flashing in front of his optics nearly blinding him.

_Emotional Override! Emotional Override! Emotional Override!_

Astroseconds away from throwing a mech three times his size out of the office, the door suddenly hissed open, a pair of sharp, small feet tapping in curtly. Dusky-blue armor, like the colour of twilight setting in darkly, stood silhouetted in the doorway. Something heavy was tossed, landing squarely in the center of his desk and scattering every single data pad on it. A cold wash of energon spattered against his armor and a disgusted noise rose from Jetfire.

"Could you be anymore uncouth?" the jet asked disapprovingly. He only took that tone with one certain femme, which gave Prowl a definite indication of who was now leaning in his office doorway.

"Don't know, wanna find out?" Chromia spat, optics flashing. She was quite small compared to Jetfire's massive frame, but she looked more than ready to take him on.

Ever the pacifist, Jetfire backed down with a snort. "Not even if you paid me," he muttered sharply. He offered Prowl a tight nod and the parting words, "I'll be returning to the labs now," before slipping out quickly.

Prowl waited a good long breem before he chose to speak, optics level with Chromia's measuring stare. He made no move to examine the severed head dripping quietly on his desk. Instead, he kept his strained optics on the femme as she watched him back, looking as fierce as she ever did. "I see that you're back," he said, remarkably calm despite his condition. "With trophies, no less."

"Presents, too," the femme added, tossing something small across the room. She stepped out of the doorway to allow the door to close, while Prowl caught the vial before it flew passed his head.

Examining the deep topaz liquid, Prowl frowned deeply. It was energizer.

"What? Don't like my present?" the femme asked, her tone mocking. Her grin increased when Prowl's frown deepened.

"I appreciate it, but I will never like it." The memory alone of the vile liquid was enough to churn his tanks, but he knew he needed the stuff if he was to continue on with this charade with his damned emotional center. Energizer did exactly what its name denoted; heavy doses of tranquilizers to calm a stressed out frame, paired with nanobots programmed to seek out all major circuit conduits, motherboards, and processors to induce a state of temporary alertness that would last for a few good orns. Unfortunately, it was damn near illegal to be caught with it, but the burning need for its calming fire in his frame was quickly beginning to outweigh the consequences. Anything to keep him in his calm, logical world a little longer.

"Just take it already." Chromia turned her head away pointedly, clearly expecting the mech to take the dose right then and there. She was rewarded for her temporary blindness with the sound of the vial being popped open and the liquid hitting the internal plating of Prowl's mouth, searing into his frame like fire. He hissed as it went down, convulsing lightly as the drug hit his tanks and reacted. Another breem later and slowly the urge to purge relaxed, his shaking receding. He felt his processes sliding back into order as the drug took affect.

Knowing the show was over, pretending nothing had happened in the first place, Chromia glided her way to the seat before the tactician's desk, sitting down comfortably before bothering to speak. "Don't even ask where I got the stuff either. You won't want to know," she warned. "I got plenty of it cheap; just don't ask where it's from."

Prowl's expression darkened. "Chromia…"

"Don't go there, Prowl."

"It's just that some of the things you do are…" he searched for the right words.

"Better left unsaid?" the femme offered, optic raised daringly.

"Yes," he sighed after a fashion, shaking his head in defeat.

"Good. Then I'll keep my mouth shut." She looked quite content knowing she wasn't going to be interrogated.

"I think that would be best." He knew better than to press the issue. Usually it bothered him to no end to think he was no better than that pit-spawned miscreant Sideswipe and his barely-controlled berserker brother, but after recently recovering from the clutches of an almost-total meltdown, he was finding it hard to begrudge himself. Glancing up at the dusky-blue femme lounging across him, he found it hard to begrudge her as well. They'd been together too long. They had an understanding, connected by the lovers they were forced to say goodbye to for the _Ark_ mission. They helped the other when necessary, and didn't ask questions when most bots would have. When most bots _should_ have.

She sprawled out comfortably in the hard chair, twisting until she was settled to her liking. "So, no 'Hello, Chromia, welcome back'?" she asked airily. "I'm hurt, Prowl."

Prowl could care less. He gestured to the dead mech's head on his desk. "Care to share why this Decepticon's head is no longer attached to his frame?"

"I had to scare Jetfire out of this room somehow," the femme replied, smiling poisonously, making it very clear that she was quite happy with her methods. Years of squaring off with Autobot medics and scientists alike in order to defend her young charge had made her bitter and merciless when dealing with any bot sporting those decals.

Prowl stared her down coldly until she sighed.

Hands in the air, shrugging like the world really wasn't her problem, Chromia nonchalantly informed him, "Hey, you're the one who put me on security detail on that ship. If you want me to be some guardfemme for a bunch of whiney Neutral merchants, than I'll be a guardfemme for a bunch of whiney Neutral merchants, but don't you dare blame me for indulging myself when that boring-as-slag ship got attacked. I did my job, no one was kidnapped. So sue me if I had a little fun."

"Was the head really necessary?" Prowl sighed.

"I repeat: _boring-as-slag_." The dusty-blue femme picked up the large head, easily the size of her own torso, and turned it carefully in her arms. "Besides, I think Arcee will like it."

"I'm sure she will," he agreed wryly.

Sharp, sharp fingertips traced over the slack facial features of the decapitated head. "She'd been so fragging bored lately, being cooped up like she is all the time."

"She sounded fine when I checked in on her," Prowl offered, dropping his gaze when Chromia's optics flashed. "As fine as she could be, considering her condition," he amended quietly.

A short laugh cut from the warrior. "That's because you can't tell when she's lying," Chromia snapped out. Prowl shrugged, choosing not to the answer.

They drifted into a silence that was hardly the least bit awkward. In fact, it was rather comfortable in a way that said they'd been failing into this sort of routine often throughout the vorns. Chromia turned her prize over in her hands, not caring that it dripped all over her lap. Prowl sat back in his chair, coldly examining the empty vial of energizer in his hands. Every once in a while, he would catch Chromia's optics darting to the single data pad left on the desk.

"So, you heard the news too?" he asked, finally breaking the silence

She smiled again, this time her faceplate warm and devoid of poison. "Yes, as soon as I got in," she replied. "I was wondering if you had."

"That was what Jetfire was here for."

"Fragging aft-glitch."

The tactician shook his head, finding her harboured grudge against any medic or science officer more than a little illogical. "He was only trying to be of some help."

"I never said the fragging aft-glitch wasn't helpful, I just said he was a fragging aft-glitch." She snorted tartly.

Prowl shook his head, bending to the ground to start collecting up his scattered reports. "Will you be going?" he asked, curious of Chromia's intentions regarding Optimus Prime's transmission.

She laughed dryly. "Of course I will. I can't think of a damn bot that wouldn't."

"Decepticons may not."

"Do you even think I count them as bots anymore?" the femme snapped, rolling her optics. "You know how it is- if I see one, I'll shoot it down before it even thinks to draw a weapon." Gathering herself again, she mulled over the transmission, the image of her bonded materializing before her optics with so much clarity it hurt. "I can't think of one damn Autobot who wouldn't go through the pit and back to get to this 'Earth' place."

"Not every bot is bonded to a mech that was on the _Ark_."

She sighed, covering her faceplate with both hands. "I want to see him so badly," she said, the need in her voice palpable. This was one of the few times she could let her walls down, conveying what she really felt, because she knew Prowl and her were pretty much on the same page. "I want to touch him so badly just to make sure he's real." Her head tipped back lightly so that she stared at the ceiling through her fingers. "He's been so far away for so long… it's like feeling ghosts all the time. I know he's alive, but I can't just reach out and touch him. Not with my hands, not with my spark."

"I… can't imagine what that's like," he sighed.

"Pray you never have to find out," she replied firmly.

Prowl sat and watched the femme, struck by the amazing thought that he wished he _could _have that same depth of connection with Jazz that Chromia possessed with Ironhide. If they had been bonded, no doubt the misery Prowl suffered from would be a thousand times worse, but Primus what he wouldn't give for the connection he knew Chromia and Ironhide had. He was in awe of Chromia every orn, knowing she could still stand, even under the immense pain her spark was subjected to every moment she was online. Chromia was made of stronger stuff than any other Autobot he knew.

As if sensing that his internals musings were on her, or just fed up with the disturbingly steady gaze Prowl was fixing her with, Chromia shot him a flat look and said, "What about you? I _know_ you're heading for Earth. Question is, _when_?"

"As soon as possible."

"That's going to be troublesome for you, then," Chromia replied, leaning over the head in her lap. "There aren't any Autobot ships in any of the hangars and it'll be a while before any of them get back to this hub."

"What about the pod you used to get back here with?"

"Perceptor jumped on the thing and launched it as soon as I was docked," she said, sneering a little. "The thing sure can run fast when he wants to- he had at least a dozen mechs on his aft to get on the pod."

"So there are absolutely no ships in the hangars?"

A smirk quirked the edges of her mouth. "I said there weren't any _Autobot _ships," she replied. "There does happen to be one _civilian_ ship that belongs to us, though. You know whose it is." She laughed when Prowl caught on and his expression darkened. "I know you don't like the idea of commandeering it, but if you want to get out of here any time soon…"

"They're insubordinate, crass, illogical, uncontrollable little pit-spawn who deserve to be locked away in the brig for the rest of their miserable lives. I'm not taking their damn ship."

"You say that now, but I know you love them," the femme teased.

"I love them like I love rust," Prowl growled.

"Everybody has a soft spot for rust," she laughed.

He sighed, giving in. There was no point in arguing with the femme, she would only serve to aggravate him. "Fine, I will speak to them about their ship."

Chromia grinned widely, rising from her seat. "Good. Give me two joors to pack up for me and Arcee and we'll meet you in hangar four."

"Very well. I'll call a meeting for all the Autobots there then, to let them know what's happening," and then asked, "Would you have any idea where those two pit-spawn would be at the moment?"

The warrior femme paused in the doorway to roll her optics. "Where else would they be when they're not on shift?"

* * *

His roar reverberated off the vaulted walls and ceiling as he rushed his opponent, claws out, ready to tear the stupid creature challenging him apart. They collided in the ring viciously, animals tearing at each other to kill. A blade swung out from the white mech and buried into an unprotected slate between the golden plates of Sunstreaker's armor. A furious snarl ripped through the air as the mech retaliated, hands slashing out to rip across his opponent's faceplate.

A roar from the on looking crowd let the mechs know their fight was being appreciated.

Swerve stumbled back, one hand coming up to run across the stinging gnash now blazing across his faceplate. Some plating had been torn loose and cut into the energon lines below, so his fingers came away wet and glowing. "You glitch," he grunted.

Sunstreaker grinned dangerously, enjoying the sight of the life-fluid leaking down his victim's faceplate. "You're just jealous of my skill."

He lunged again, before Swerve had time to gather himself. They clashed in a loud scream of metal-against-metal. The burning lust for the battle in Sunstreaker's spark soared to searing levels as he tore in, digging his claws into the white mech's back and tearing away plating. He cared little for the crowd, or the fact that he and Swerve just spent an entire shift together patrolling; the blazing red insignia that lay proudly on his chassis was just a splash of red paint. Once the battle began, Sunstreaker was gone and the dark monster inside him was unleashed. He saw nothing more than the spray of energon when he cut into a line, and he felt nothing more than ever-present rage unleashed on this poor, stupid mech who thought he could take him.

Twisting free of the hold the berserker had put him in, Swerve aimed a punch for the golden mech's faceplate. Having that attack blocked, he dropped to the floor and swept the mech's feet out from under him. With a satisfying crash, Sunstreaker hit the floor hard. Not wasting a moment, the white mech threw himself back into the brawl, rolling across the ring as they fought viciously. Ripping, tearing, snarling, clawing.

Another serrated blade swung out from Swerve's arm, ramming into the pristine golden paint of Sunstreaker's armor. A long, deep gouge appeared in its wake. Suddenly, the pair froze, staring at the superficial damage. Sunstreaker was the first to move, optics rising to Swerve's, and in that moment, Swerve knew he was going to lose the match.

Fury blazed throughout all of Sunstreaker's being; blind, burning, horrible fury that caused his optics to flash red for an instant before he reared from the ground and grabbed hold of Swerve's throat. An roar vibrated the entire room, shaking even the shadows. Lifting the struggling mech from the ground, he dropped to one knee to slam the mech's head into the ground. The dent he left in both the armor and floor were satisfying. Swerve's optics flickered black. The maelstrom of battle-lust raging within him didn't allow the match to end there though. With utterly unnatural strength, Sunstreaker grabbed Swerve around the neck and knee joint, hauling him over his head to yank him apart.

"Sunstreaker, no! You've won! End it!" Suddenly, the golden mech was blinded with the familiar feeling of his brother forcing himself through the heavy, black void festering in Sunstreaker's spark until he gripped tight and shook him with astral hands. A flash of red, and Sideswipe was at the ring's edge, staring up with wide optics and a desperately demanding expression. "Don't kill him, Sunstreaker!"

Having been shaken out of the battle-frenzy, the monster within him crawling back into the dank recesses of his being, Sunstreaker sighed and tugged the mech above his head until he heard a series of pops. Knowing he'd just disconnected the mech's spinal column, he threw his opponent into the crowd, not looking back as he slipped out of the ring to stand with his brother. He'd have First Ai on his back in a few joors, ranting at him for all the recalibrations that the medic would have to perform in order for Swerve to use his spinal column again.

They stared at each other for a while as the crowd filed out, carting Swerve with them. The hub was a Neutral station that the Autobots had set up in long ago, so there was a mishmash of creatures cheering Sunstreaker's designation as they trooped out- inorganics to organics and everything in between. The fight and the crowds brought Sunstreaker right back to his gladiatorial orns.

"Thanks, bro," the golden mech sighed, sagging a little. "I was close."

Sideswipe nodded understandingly. "I know. That's why I stopped you." He laid a hand over the gnash in his brother's paint. "Other than this, are you hurt?"

The self-diagnostic he ran revealed a few minor dislocations of armor plating and some slashes in his energon lines. Nothing serious enough to warrant a visit to the med bay, so he shrugged. "How much we win?"

"Quite a bit," Sideswipe replied. "You know how to draw a crowd."

"Just like the good old orns."

The red mech smiled sadly, hearing the hollow tone in his brother's voice as he spoke. Instead of saying something that would make it worse, he simply patted his brother on the leg.

"Sometimes I don't know if I'm getting better or worse," Sunstreaker sighed. There were orns when he fought and was able to retain a small shred of who he was, but then there were orns, like today, when he simply lost himself to his monsters like he did when he was a gladiator in Kaon.

"You're better than you once were," Sideswipe offered, almost nonchalantly if it ween't for the little nudge he gave his brother through their bond. He leaned into his brother, relaxing into the familiar resonance of the other half of his spark pulsing strong in Sunstreaker's chassis.

Sunstreaker's claws gripped the edge of the ring, crumbling it as he clenched the hard metal. "But I'll never be better than this, will I?"

Sideswipe shrugged, having had this conversation a thousand times before and already knew the script he was supposed to follow. "Maybe. You never know."

Gold armor brushed against red as the ex-gladiator laid his forehead against his merchant brother's. "No, I already know. There's not enough left of me to-."

At the sound of distant footsteps drawing near, they parted instantly. With the sparring room as empty as it was, they heard the approaching mech long before they saw him. Identifying his spark resonance before he came into view, the twins tensed themselves and awaited Prowl's appearance, knowing it was useless to run. Whatever they did this time to have him track them down, they knew it was best to take whatever meagre punishment they were dealt instead of making it worse by running, especially when their warden was running on pure logic and exhaust.

Even they weren't that stupid.

The moment storm-grey armor appeared around the corner, Sideswipe turned on his best pout. "What we do this time?" he whined.

Prowl stared flatly, unmoved by Sideswipe's attempts to make himself appear innocent. The mech had a look about him that made him look permanently guilty. "You've done nothing wrong," the tactician stated, and then added, "nothing that I know of, anyways."

A snort cut from Sunstreaker, turning his gaze away. "Then why are you here?"

"I need to speak with the two of you."

Sideswipe sighed dramatically. "Is harassing us your idea of fun?" They both knew Prowl was stretched thin at the moment, but it was practically ingrained on their processors to bother him. And, besides, he didn't look too bad off at the moment.

"No, I'm here to speak with you about commandeering your ship," Prowl said, annoyance edging his voice. Instantly, the twins were up and ready to protest. Before they could get a curse word in, the mech's hands were up, silencing them. "I assure you, I would not be coming to you if it was not of the utmost urgency that I take your ship."

"Come on, Prowl! The _Loki_'s _my_ ship! I do my best business on her!" Sideswipe protested.

"And there are no other Autobot ships in the hangars for me to use. I have greater need of the ship than you do," Prowl countered.

"Why?" the red mech pouted. "What could be so important that you gotta take my precious ship away from me?" His precious ship with all it's barely-legal cargo.

"This." He held out the data pad with Optimus's message and played it for them. He tracked the expressions that crossed their faceplates, watching the awe and amazement that appeared and guessed that those expressions have probably crossed many mech's faceplates that orn. As the message played down, Prowl fixed them with a hard stare. "So, you see, I need to get to Earth."

Sideswipe nodded, now seeming to rethink the situation. His faceplate brightened fractionally when he reached his decision. "Fine, fine, you take the _Loki_, but you're taking me as well. No way in pit you're taking my _Loki_ without me."

"And if you take him, you're taking me too," Sunstreaker cut in.

Prowl's expression hardened. It was the twin special: two headaches for the price of one. Was getting to Earth _really_ that worth it? "Fine, you two can come along," he sighed.

They grinned at each other in victory.

Shifting on his feet, Prowl glared at them coldly. "But you follow my orders. One infraction and the both of you are out an airlock. Is that clear?"

Sideswipe laughed. "As crystal."

"You swear to listen to my every order?"

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. "When do we not?"

Prowl was sorely tempted to ring off the exact number of times. Instead, he turned on his heel. "Be in the hangar in two joors," he instructed. "Chromia, Arcee, and I will be there, ready for departure."

The twins tensed at the mentioning of Arcee. They shared a concerned glance before zeroing in on Prowl once more. "Wait. Are you sure it's safe to bring- uh, _her_?" Sideswipe asked.

"Do you think Chromia would leave without her?" the tactician asked.

"Yeah, I know, she wouldn't, but… is it really safe?" the red mech pressed.

Prowl sighed. "Probably not."

* * *

At that exact moment of time, Chromia could not possibly be happier. She knew where her sparkmate was and she was only joors away from setting out to see him again. She was practically skipping down the hallway towards her shared quarters, the delicious images of what she would be doing to him flashing away in her mind. She'd have him on his back, maybe he'd fight her on to hers; they'd bond against the wall, no doubt, and against the floor, and probably the door too. And not gently either. She'd kill him if he was gentle. After vorns of suffering through the pit, her spark in a constant state of throbbing misery, she wanted rough, violent, I-don't-give-a-frag-if-the-world-can-hear bonding time with her mate and she wanted it as soon as possible! And, if they could swing it, she wanted it as many times as possible in as many places as possible!

In wake of those pleasant thoughts, the grin on her faceplate was probably permanent by now- a disturbing thought when she had such a violent reputation to maintain.

As she made her way through the corridors, the wandering mechs, staff and visitors to Tri-Omega alike, cut a wide path for her. Even as she hopped aboard a lift that would take her into the residence area cordoned off for the Autobots' use when they first stationed there, the creatures in the lift left a wide berth around her. It was the smile that was probably setting them off, the femme reasoned. A smile on her faceplate usually meant danger for everyone else in the vicinity. Or maybe it was the severed head she was holding.

The lift paused at another floor a few below her stop and let on a small crowd of waiting aliens, among which was a smirking Blades as he pushed his way to stand next to her.

"Nice head," the Protectobot commented, eyeing the dripping prize.

"Thanks," Chromia replied proudly. "Yours ain't so bad, either."

The maroon-red mech chuckled, shrugging good-naturedly. "Yeah, but I like where mine is at the moment."

"To bad," the femme laughed lightly, her unusually good mood enabling her to be moderately social for once. The lift finally opened to their floor and they both pushed their way out, Chromia going left, Blades going right. The mech paused a few steps down the hall, causally glancing back.

"Prowl's called a meeting for us in hangar bay four in a little bit," he announced. "See ya then?"

Chromia offered the mech a grin, nodding. "Yeah, see ya then." Still too much in a disturbingly good mood, she nearly pranced the rest of the way to her quarters, located near the end of the all next to Prowl's. Her fingers hesitated over the control panel, adjusting the dead weight in her arms. Her good mood faltered for all but an astrosecond before she reaffixed her warm smile and punched in the lock code.

"Arcee, I'm ba-!"

The head she'd meant as a present hit the floor hard at her feet and went rolling, her good mood instantly forgotten. Her optics stared in horror at the limp tangle of limbs lying not far from where she stood.

"Arcee!" A single, terrified pulse of her spark passed before the femme leapt into action, crossing the distance between her and her charge in less than an astrosecond. Surprisingly strong hands delved down into the crumpled mess of arms and legs and untwisted the knot that Arcee's frame had fallen into. The only light offered in the room was from the large, wall-to-ceiling windows that made up the far wall of the room, allowing soft starlight to drift in and illuminate the slack features of the small femme's faceplate.

Seeing the symptoms for what they were, Chromia's mouthplates pressed together in a grim line and hefted Arcee into her arms, cradling her close to her chassis, carrying her over to the cold berth that laid in the starlight beneath the windows. Laying her out, crawling up onto the berth next to her, Chromia tapped Arcee's faceplate until the younger femme began to come around.

"Come on, dearspark, you gotta get up now," she urged calmly, ignoring the beating hum of her spark as it pulsed rapidly in her sparkcase. A broken groan floated from Arcee, her faceplate scrunching. "It's alright now, Arcee, it's over. You can get up now," Chromia continued, knowing that it was best to get the femme back into the land of the online as quickly and calmly as possible before she had a chance to figure out what had happened.

"Chromia…?"

A smile clearly borne of relief pulled of Chromia's features. "I'm right here, dearspark," she whispered, leaning her forehead down to Arcee's. "I'm right here." She went rigid when she felt Arcee's frame tense, as the little femme processed her mentor's tone, connecting to the reasons she usually used it for. Then the memories of the dream hit her, a cry rising from her as she recoiled and attempted to curl into a ball.

"_Dammit! Not again! Not again!" _

Chromia's hands were there before Arcee could even think, pulling her out of the protective ball she'd attempted to wrap herself in. "It happened again, didn't it?" she asked softly, optics searching carefully. There was always the right amount of caring in the femme's faceplate when she looked at Arcee, always the right amount of fondness and concern and love and it made her wish that Chromia really was her Creator, that her spark was gifted to her and her gruff-but-loving-even-though-he-didn't-want-the-world-to-know-it mate.

Bowing from the power of the wretched sobs wracking her, Arcee nodded and allowed her frame to be enveloped in Chromia's embrace.

"Damn those dreams," the femme cursed darkly, laying her cheek plate to the top of Arcee's head. "It's alright now. You're online. It's over now."

Wasted hands, long stripped of any armour, reached up to clutch to the ridges in Chromia's blue armor. Her optics glanced up at the desk in the corner, to the askew keyboard and the flipped away chair. _It was just a dream! It was just a dream! It was just a dream! _

"What happened this time?" Chromia asked quietly in a subtly protective tone that let Arcee know that she would always have someone in her corner with Chromia around, that she could go on a killing spree and wipe out all of Tri-Omega and all Chromia would do is ask, "And what did they do to you, dearspark?"

"…I dreamt that was being controlled again," Arcee replied, ignoring how Chromia stiffened when she mentioned the word "dream"- Chromia was "normal" after all, she didn't dream, she didn't understand what dreaming was, but she listened anyways. "They took flight plans this time."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

"It's okay," the younger femme sighed, quietly soothing herself in the resonance of Chromia's spark. "You're here now." She paused for a moment, and then asked, "Are we going to tell Perceptor and the others?"

A grim laugh drifted from Chromia. "No, not this time. Perceptor's gone, and I've already hit my quote of fraggers today so that leaves Jet-fragger out. I've got something better, though."

Arcee pulled away lightly, peering at the older femme with faded optics. "What?"

"You, me, packing up and getting on the _Loki_, flying off to some planet called Earth to see Ironhide again," Chromia replied with a grin. "Bumblebee's probably with them too," she added, enjoying the flash in the young femme's optics. It was so rare to see a flash of life cross Arcee's faceplate, any opportunity was a good one.

"You know where they are?"

"I do now. The message just came in; I got it the moment my feet hit the hangar floor. Prowl's commandeering the _Loki_ from the twins as we speak." She laughed as she thought of the brawl that might ensue over the civilian ship Sideswipe was so fond of. "We'll be out of here in less than two joors."

"Chromia, I don't know if I can do that," Arcee whispered bitterly, tugging out of the other femme's embrace.

Chromia made an impatient sound. "Don't say things like that. Of course you can," she asserted firmly. "You're coming and that's final."

With weak hands, Arcee reached up and grasped Chromia's faceplate, forcing the other femme to look at her, _really_ look at her. "Do you honestly think I can make a journey like that? Just getting to this station just about did me in. We don't know how far away Earth is- it could just be a death sentence for me."

"You'll do fine. I'll be with you," Chromia assured confidently.

"Dammit, Chromia, I just had to have my leg replaced two orns ago because it fell off! _Look_ at me! I'm not fine!" Her armor had long ago been stripped from her frame, her systems unable to support the strain of maintaining the extra plating; she was down to her barest essentials- exposed wires and circuits, thin metal rods attached to hinges that served as temporary limbs before they too died and had to be replaced. She was grey, and dull, and weak. All thanks to that Primus damned slagging _antivirus_ that had turned out to be a fragging Trojan horse, activating the moment she'd recovered and putting her into a deeper level of the pit then she'd been in before.

In the beginning, nobody had even noticed anything was wrong with her. Sure, there was the occasional weakening in her systems, or a skip in her processes, but that, of course, could have been accredited to the monster Alpha-class virus that had nearly sent her to the scrap heap. But then the symptoms progressed, her frame eventually weakening to the point where even her armor was weighing her down. She'd let on to Chromia and no one, allowing the older femme to cover for her, viciously picking apart any mech who dared to enquire too closely about Arcee's health.

And then came the orn, vorns and vorns after Iacon had fallen and they'd taken up residence in another base, when her arm fell off. They knew something was _definitely_ wrong with her by then.

First Aid had done her best to try and reattach her arm, but the entire thing was dead. He had to attach a spare arm. He'd scanned her and couldn't find a damn thing wrong. He'd scanned her several times more after that, since Chromia had threatened him with evisceration if he didn't. As a last resort, he'd attempted to interface with her to get a close up look at her internal data, hoping to spot the infection with a more personal optic on the job.

For his troubles, he was electrocuted and thrown across the room.

That's when other curious medics and scientists began poking their curious olfactory sensors into the problem to try and see what was wrong with poor, falling apart Arcee. They never really found a damn thing, Trojan horses are tricky like that, but what they _did_ find was a femme slowly rotting from the inside out as a program they couldn't find slowly weakened every fibre in her frame until she fell apart, completely unreachable when all attempts made to connect to any outside source, whether it be someone or something, ended up in a severe electrocution that left the afflicted rendered useless for orns.

The only thing that could be done for her was replace whatever limbs fell off, leaving her slave to the wretched prison her frame had become.

She was a husk of her former self.

But, to Chromia, all that hardly seemed to matter. With a flinty, determined look in her optics, she slid from the berth and walked to the small stand in the room that held both their meagre personal possessions. With a single-minded determinedness that one would come to expect from the sparkmate of Ironhide, she began wrenching things out of their drawers and throwing them away into whatever carrying case she could get her hands on. In the end, their own personal stuff filled a single case, while all the spare limbs and medical-class energon they kept on hand for Arcee's condition took up five.

Summoning a drone to come and take their stuff to hanger four, Chromia marched over to the berth Arcee had failed to leave the entire time it took to pack everything. Easily pulling the smaller femme up and propping her against the blue armor of her side, the warrior femme fixed her with one of her most commanding, stubborn looks, a look that was a throwback to a time when they were mentor and apprentice.

"You're coming and that's final. If I hear anything more out of you otherwise, I'll weld your mouthplates shut. Understand?"

With a sigh, Arcee knew it was useless to argue. Secretly, she was glad there was no force in the universe that could stop Chromia when she set her mind to something. "Yes. I understand."

"Good."


	13. Hurt a Little Bit

Alright, alright, so here's the thirteenth chapter! I know I might be cruisin' from a bruisin' by posting it here and now, on a Tuesday afternoon, when school is just starting to get back into swing and everyone is busy again. . I really do hope that all of my beloved reader/reviewers have enough time on their hands to drop me a line or two! I'd really appreciate it! My own university classes begin on Thursday, so a little review love coming in from wonderful readers like yourselves would do me wonders to sooth the angst of going back to the daily grind.

This chapter is somewhat connected to the expansion fic _Looking Glass Self, _so if anyone is having trouble following along with Punch and Doubledealer, that fic may help

As always, I want to thank my most wonderful readers out there who have taken the time to write out a little shout out to me through a review. As every writer on knows, reviews are totally what make this worth it. Each review I read gives me a little thrill and spurs me to write better and faster. Thank you so much to the wonderful people in the world; **Jason M. Lee, Elita One, Birdman45, Cassiopeia1979, Bluebird Soaring, Stripperella, Flameshield, Chloo, Silveriss, Bunnylass, theshadowcat, Litahatchee, Daebereth, Moonlight black rose, **and **Freakish Child**! I am truly humbled by all your reviews!

Special dedication goes out to **Lecidre**! Sorry that this isn't one of the one-shots that I said I would dedicate, but I hope this is okay! You've been so wonderful that I really felt the need to dedicate this! As well, chapter 13 of _As We Come Together_ is dedicated to **Litahatchee** and **Freakish Child** for their monster reviews that put a smile on my face for hours afterward! Hope you three don't mind a three way dedication!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which We Hurt a Little Bit**

"Now where, oh where, would that darn wormhole be?" Wheeljack sung to himself, ignoring the fact that the void of space sucked his voice away from him, rendering him mute in the nothingness.

He drifted effortlessly through the cold void of the Beta-Zen region, oblivious to most else. His sleek alt mode, adopted for the rigors of space travel, glided gently over natural currents, glinting dusty grey-silver in the fiery light of the nearby red giant, the only object in the region besides space junk. He'd been through the region at least twice in the two orns since he'd gotten there and _still_ no wormhole. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Huffing a sigh, Wheeljack simply turned himself in a lazy roll and began to circle around again in his third search for the reported wormhole that would take him straight to Earth. He'd received a transmission from Blaster not even three orns prior giving him specific directions to the anomaly, and here he was, sitting in the exact spot he was supposed to be, and there was _no_ wormhole.

"Damn Blaster and his directions," the engineer grumbled. "There ain't one speck of a wormhole 'round here…" Again, he turned in a lazy circle. "What do ya think, Tungsten?"

Quiet puttering glided up beside him, bumping his plating lightly; a tiny silver of silver tethered to one of his stabilizers by a long length of cord. From it came a quick, squeaky, "Meep, meep."

"Huh, well, I never really thought 'bout it like that before," Wheeljack reasoned sensibly. "Maybe we _are_ missing something."

The little drone, folded into a simple hoverer for easy towing, continued to drift aimlessly at Wheeljack's side. "Meep, meep."

"I know, I know, I gotta have a little more patience fer this… Ah mean, the region is big, and we've only been here two orns, but- well, ya know how it is. Ah wanna get ta Earth real bad, Tungy. I mean, _real_ bad."

"Meep, meep."

"Yeah, thanks, I know ya understand. Ya always do." He nudged the drone in a friendly manner, despite the fact that it was a mindless heap of metal and cogs. It was _programmed_ to make a sound in response to any verbalization Wheeljack made so that the engineer didn't feel so lonely. He was essentially having a conversation with himself. "You always know the right thing to say, Tungy."

"Meep, meep."

Wheeljack chuckled a little. "Well, now that ya got me feeling all warm an' fuzzy inside, I think it'd be great ta try that search one more time. What do ya think?"

Of course, Tungsten thought the same thing about this suggestion that it thought about ever other suggestion Wheeljack made. "Meep, meep."

"Sounds good ta me! Ta be honest with ya, Ah wanna get outta this place as soon as I can," Wheeljack admitted. "I don't know if ya've noticed or not, but it feels like we're being watched by somethin', ya know? I'm not saying that just ta scare ya or anything, but this place is just too quite and empty ta be natural… it's just weird. It's really creepy."

But before Tungsten could give its automated response, space itself seemed to ripple darkly around Wheeljack and the drone. That unnerving feeling of being watched suddenly became sickeningly powerful, as if a pair of giant optics were looming right over the engineer, staring him down, calculating his presence right down to his very molecular structure.

_Something_ was watching him; something huge, close, unseen, and undeniably malevolent.

"Tungsten, I- I really think it's time ta go now," he murmured, attempting to reverse away from the malignancy that now overwhelmed that area of space.

Whatever the unseen being was, it followed, silently, its movement only marked by the disturbances in space that followed. Unspeakable frigidness was seeping into Wheeljack's frame as he faced this entity, a cold iciness that left him numb and weak and quivering deep within his spark. And then, before his very optics, the void of space began to split into a gaping chasm of blackness. A sweep of stale, frigid air gushed passed the single Autobot as the blackness reached out for him, beckoning to him. It was drawing him forward, no matter how hard he tried to reverse. A deep, guttural rumbling vibrated from deep within the looming black hole, shaking the very essence of space around it.

As Wheeljack stared back at the never ending darkness that lived and breathed and loomed before him, he couldn't help but think that of all the disasters he'd survived, he was going to end up going quietly, trapped by some unnamed force in the gravity of this invisible, malevolent being. He could help but fell a little disappointed. He was hoping more for an explosion.

So engrossed with his fate as it crept forward, clawing at him, dragging him inward into the abyss, the red giant star behind him shuddered, as if in response to the dark entity's presence. Super-heated hydrogen groaned as arcs of molten plasma exploded from the surface. The atmosphere of white hot molecules screamed and ignited, swirling into a frenzied storm as the wild solar flares broke away, lashing into the empty space beyond. The heat seared the Autobot's thrusters and back plating due to his unchecked proximity, but the unholy calling of the entity before him was a greater draw. He couldn't escape either presence.

Extraordinarily, those exact same solar flares that were kicking up such a storm in the scorching atmosphere of the red giant were gathering beyond the reaches of the star, focusing on a pinpoint in space that was both invisible and unknown to all other beings. Great lashes flung off the hot, dying star, undulating, twisting, swirling, compressing around this well of gravity hanging suspended in space. A groan unlike any other heard in space erupted from the gathering storm. A drawn out moan that rippled and wavered, more felt than heard; the sound of space collapsing in on itself, the fabric that comprised the universe folding, ripping a wide hole.

"Meep, meep."

Jolted from the grip rendered upon him by the encompassing darkness, Wheeljack felt his spark soar as Tungsten's minute mass was captured by the newly formed anomaly and tugged on the tether that knotted them together.

"Oh, Tungy! Ya found it! The wormhole!" he crowed, the enthrallment that held him fast shattered by this single point of awning light forming, drawing him anew, away from the darkness into the vast swirling ebbs and flows of the inner folds of space. "Aren't ya the smartest little thing this side of the galaxy! Good drone!"

"Meep, meep."

Thrusters engaging, burning hot ribbons into the dark velvet universe, Wheeljack spun wildly and shot for the blooming wormhole. There was no way of knowing if this was the wormhole that would take him to Earth or to some Primus-forsaken piece of the unexplored universe, but everything within him now burned with a single screaming thought: _anything _was better than this place!

Cold, calculating optics watched as the Autobot turned tail and disappeared. The gaping maw of darkness closed, invisibility setting back in, enwrapping the being in utter obscurity once more. Losses were cut. Dissatisfaction tossed aside.

There was always new prey.

There was always next time.

* * *

En route to Chaar, Punch was a little more fortunate when coming across strange entities in the middle of space.

The _Deceiver_'s sensors gave a short chirp as something came up- a small blip, no bigger than a speck, stranded in the middle of space a long way from any planet or debris field. Indulging in his aroused curiosity, since there was nothing else to do on the ship aside from glare at Starscream endlessly, Punch trotted over to the console and brought up an external image of the small object. He barked a laugh when he saw _who _it was. Just the mech to lift the mood.

Opening a channel, he hailed the stranded mech. The response was as cheery as he expected and then some.

"_Punch, ol' buddy, ol' pal, ol' friend of mine! What are you doing all the way out here?"_ Dealer asked, sounding as if he were having the time of his life.

Punch quirked a smile. "I could ask you the same thing."

"_Well, I'd say I was doing the backstroke,"_ Dealer replied, laughing as he continued to paddle along.

"_Why _are you doing the backstroke?" Punch pressed, fighting the grin that wanted to stretch across his faceplate. With Starscream within spitting distance, this was not the time or place to smile.

"_I'm doing the backstroke 'cause I can never get my timing right for the breaststroke,"_ Dealer said, as if it were the most obvious answer. To demonstrate, he turned over and attempted the breaststroke- or something similar, since it mostly looked like a full-frame seizure.

Shaking his head, Punch gave into some quiet chuckling. "No, I mean _why_ are you doing the backstroke in the middle of space instead of being on a ship?"

The sky-blue mech paused, gently adjusting himself into a vertical position. _"That is a very interesting story," _he chirped_. _

"I'd love to hear it if you're willing to come aboard," Punch offered.

As expected of one of the most cheerful, chipper, and all-around optimistic but extremely annoying mechs of the Autobot ranks (save Wheelie), Dealer grinned and nodded vigorously. _"I'd love to come aboard for some quality time with my favourite mech! You know I'd love nothing more!"_

"Just be warned, I have company," Punch sighed.

A shadow crossed Dealer's faceplate as he registered the words. _"More company than the usual two-in-one special?"_ he asked, his usual happy façade dropped for a single moment.

"Ah…" the Autobot double-agent glanced back the Starscream's prone form, wrecked and motionless as it is. "You'll see when you get aboard."

A little more cautious than before, Dealer nodded and began to "swim" his way to the hatch. _"Alright, I'll be right aboard in an astrosec, captain!" _There was a scrambling at the hatch as the mech fell in, and then a loud shout as he came around the corner and nearly fell into Starscream. He stared for a moment before grinning broadly and hopping over to Punch to clap him on the shoulder. "Hot damn, you crazy aft glitch! So this is your company?" he laughed excitedly. "Did you get him all by yourself? Or did Nightbeat help you? No- no, don't ruin the surprise! Ultra Magnus is going to hit the roof when he sees this! Did you tell him yet? If you didn't, can you put in a good word for me?"

Punch rolled his optics, shoving the other Autobot away. It was always their "other" selves that got annoying fast. "Tone it down, will you? There's no one here for you to put on that damn act for."

Instantly catching the request, Dealer smirked and backed off, his mood instantly quieted. "Good. That was getting annoying," he replied, cracking a kink in his neck column. Without warning, his Autobot signature vanished and his armour began to shift, deepening into shadowed blues caressed by indigo and black. With the transformation complete, Doubledealer fixed his fellow double-agent with a wry smirk. "Better?"

"Much," Punch replied with a sigh of disgust. "Dealer is way too energetic for me. Counterpunch may be able to handle him, but, as it is, I can't handle more than a breem or two."

Doubledealer barked a laugh, circling around Starscream again to observe him with the predatory optic of a Decepticon. "And you think talking with Counterpunch is a picnic? Sometimes I want to claw his vocal processor out from all that stuttering. I'm surprised he hasn't gone to a medic to get it fixed."

"It's a personal choice of his," Punch replied. "Besides, he's too nervous to go to a 'Con medic- they'd probably knock him out and strip him for spare parts."

Doubledealer nodded understandingly as he prodded Starscream around his head. "That's what would do if I were a medic," he replied. "As it stands, I think Counterpunch's only friend in the universe would be Dealer, and likewise, if Dealer's lack of a ship at the moment is any indication."

Punch perked up, wandering over to stand opposite of his friend, staring up the length of the Seeker's frame to Doubledealer's red optics. "I am curious about that."

The 'Con laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Dealer was exaggerating when he said it was an interesting story," he moderated. "All that happened was he pushed himself onto a ship where no one wanted him, and then thought it was safe to get some recharge in the back." Suddenly, the mech engaged his chameleon subroutines, switching to Dealer once more. "I woke up, and the ship was gone!" he exclaimed melodramatically.

With a shake of his head, Punch offered his old friend a pitying smile. "I keep telling you that you should really tone it down or you're never going to be able to get information out of anyone."

"I am who I am!" Dealer retorted stubbornly, crossing his arms.

"Yes, and if you stay who you are, no mech is going to want to stay in your presence for more than a couple breems," Punch reasoned. He, too, engaged his camouflage routines, the brightness of his armor fading into shadow, the erectness of his stance sagging into a permanent, nervous slump. "B-be more like m-me," Counterpunch offered. "I-I'm quiet and o-out of the way. You barely know I'm there. N-no one ever suspects the strut-less one of being a spy; I-I'm their favourite punching bag."

The two mechs stared quietly at each other for a moment before breaking out into loud laughter, switching back to their more comfortable states.

"I'll give you credit for Counterpunch," Doubledealer managed to say between bouts. "I've never met a mech who was more like a doormat."

"Thanks, I try," Punch replied, composing himself.

Doubledealer tapped Starscream on the head a few times, laughing when a hollow sound followed. "So, Starscream isn't yours, is he? Counterpunch is shuttling him somewhere."

"Yeah, to Chaar for the other Seekers."

"And you're not going to get involved to drag this pile of slag to an Autobot station?"

"Can't. Swindle's already given Thundercracker and Skywarp the lowdown on 'Screamer- they're expecting him now, and they're expecting a stuttering coward escort to be flying the ship there."

"Frag." Doubledealer grimaced, nodding. Being a Decepticon himself who'd dealt with the Seekers on a few occasions, he didn't appreciate the thought of attempting to double-cross them. "Alright, I see where you're coming from. You wouldn't want them on Counterpunch's aft- that might bring Punch to light, and nobody wants that."

"Least of all you or I, since that might unveil Dealer and yourself," Punch sighed, leaning heavily on the occupied berth.

"Yes, of course. Neither of us would want this arrangement we have between ourselves ruined because of some flimsy loyalty a part of us may have." The other mech shifted on his feet, staring down at the Seeker pensively. "The things we do are too delicate to risk, and this mech here certainly isn't worth enough to risk it all for."

Punch moved away from Starscream's feet, sliding his way to his friend. It had been a long time since either of them had cared what faction insignia they wore. To be honest, it didn't really matter anyways- they changed enough for it to be moot. They were simply friends. Friends who kept the other from snapping that thin thread of sanity they so desperately clutched to whenever they drifted too far, began to forget, couldn't remember whose part they were playing. They valued their friendship and the dangerous games they played more than anything.

The Autobot agent's blinding yellow-orange arms went around the 'Con's evening-armour carefully, fitting himself to the other frame in a loose hug. "_This_ is too delicate to risk," he said, butting his forehead against Doubledealer's. "Our friendship."

Doubledealer returned the hug after a moment, allowing Dealer to leak through and offer a tight embrace to the other Autobot. "You two keep us sane," he said, speaking to both sides of his friend.

"And you two keep us on our toes," Punch replied in kind. Next to them, Starscream groaned quietly. Without disengaging the hug, Doubledealer reached out and pounded the Seeker's head so he passed out again. Punch rolled his optics. "See? Like that."

Moment broken, they stepped away from the other with wry smiles and brief laughs. Doubledealer was the first to speak.

"Even if you can't cart this thing to an Autobot station, I'm surprised you haven't done anything to him yet. He is the one who gave you that Trojan horse after all; he at least deserves to be banged around a little."

"You're such a 'Con," Punch admonished lightly with a roll of his optics. "Although… there's nothing I'd love more than to kill him right here and now if I could, but, like I said, his brothers know of his status and are expecting him hail and whole- or, well, as whole as he is at the moment. Besides, someone's already beaten the slag out of him and then some, if you haven't noticed."

"That must bother you a lot, having him here and not be able to do a thing to him," Doubledealer sighed sympathetically. "Especially since someone else got to have all the fun."

"Yeah, it bothers me. It bothers me even more that I can't even tap into his processor to scrounge up some useful information to send to Nightbeat or Ultra Magnus- the fragger doesn't have enough of his processor together that the moment to fill a microchip. He's nothing more than a pile of scrap metal with a spark."

"That does sound troublesome," Doubledealer conceded. "You're a better mech than I am, Punch. I would have just shot him by now."

"Maybe it's the Autobot in me," the mech offered, laying a hand over his chest plates where the Autobot insignia had been burned into his sparkcase. They both laughed at the comment, even though it wasn't really a joke.

Doubledealer's paint was already lightening as he switched to Dealer. "Well, the Autobot in me has a few things he wants to do to Screamer here." He grinned annoyingly. "Do Thunder-aft and Slag-warp know what colour their dearest Air Commander is at the moment?"

Tipping his head, Punch shrugged. "Probably not," he conceded. He couldn't remember if Swindle had sent a visual of Starscream or not.

"Then… do you have any paint on board?" he asked.

"There could be some in that storage locker over there," Punch offered offhandedly, waving to said locker. "Vortex made Counterpunch do a little refinishing to the _Double-cross_'s away ships a while back."

Dealer whooped, hopping over and pulling out the indicated paint. "Yep, there's some paint here, alright! Ha! It's red and white!" he cheered. "It'll be the ugliest thing anyone's ever seen! Who's ever heard of a red and white Seeker?!"

"Don't get too wild," Punch warned, but was distracted by a chirp from the _Deceiver_ again, this time a hailing alert. "Damn- Dealer, hide!" he ordered sharply.

Without a second thought, the mech dove under the console, taking the paint with him. Punch rolled his optics, kicking the other mech's aft in farther so as to hide him more as he responded to the comms request. A hard hand on his leg paused him.

"_You're still Punch, you half-bit!" _the hidden mech hissed, Doubledealer now crouched down there.

"Wha-?" He look down, then cursed. "Frag, I forgot!" Instantly, he shifted, and then opened up the channel. "O-Onslaught! S-Swindle! H-h-how are you?" Counterpunch squeaked.

The looked less than pleased to be contacting him.

"_This is far from a courtesy call, you stuttering half-bit,"_ Onslaught growled.

"O-oh?" Counterpunch squeaked, cringing.

"_We just recently had a lost to our crew and we need you to hurry the frag up with your cargo to get back on this ship to pick up the slack,"_ the Combaticon leader ordered.

"W-what happened?"

Swindle hissed, his optic swivelling impatiently. _"We were given coordinates to a Neutral ship with a single Autobot on board. We thought it would an easy pick up, so we attacked the ship in our usual formation and sent Whisper in for retrieval."_ His hand tightened into a fist. _"The Autobot stationed on that ship turned out to be _Chromia_."_

Counterpunch flinched, and at his feet he felt Doubledealer cringed. Chromia was one of the more formidable warriors the Autobots had to offer. "I s-see… So, she killed him?"

"_She took his head,"_ Swindle growled.

"A-at least the rest of him is still sellable, right?" he asked, hoping to appeal to Swindle's merchant side.

"_Yes, of course it is, and we picked his frame up the moment they threw it off ship, but the annoyance of being one crewmember short is a little more than we can bare at the moment, especially with Mastermind's material still on our list of things to do,"_ Swindle pressed, more than a little edgy that he still had Mastermind's dirty work to do.

"_Virus was more than generous to supply us with another Autobot target, though. It seems that we have had him on our aft for quite some time, but his cloaking technology has kept him shielded from us. It'll take a little bit of effort to unmask the fragger, but we'll get him," _Onslaught informed firmly. _"Even if the ship is only manned by a single mech, we are still going to require your presence on board, so hurry the frag up." _

"Y-yes, sir," Counterpunch stuttered breathlessly. Without any goodbyes, the channel closed and Counterpunch sagged to the ground. Doubledealer crawled out and laid a careful arm around the other mech's shoulder as Counterpunch changed back into Punch.

"I think they were talking about Nightbeat," he sighed quietly.

"Probably were; Virus probably picked that up from a private file somewhere," Doubledealer shrugged. "She has her ways with the Autobot data bases. Don't know how she does it, but she's good."

"Yeah, she is. Too good. That's what I hate about it," Punch growled softly. "And I know you do the same things, which I hate even more."

"Thank Primus we never discuss business when we're together, then. Makes it easier for the both of us," Doubledealer snorted. "But, about Nightbeat… what do you think?"

"I don't think I can do it. I know the mech- I've worked with him for vorns. We're Special Ops together." He ran an anxious hand over his faceplates. "Even if this leads us straight to Mastermind and all those kidnapped victims…"

"This isn't the worst thing you've ever done," Doubledealer offered in some form of twisted comfort.

Punch looked pained, leaning back to bang his head against the console several times. "I still don't think I can do it."

The Decepticon double-agent gave his friend a tight squeeze with the arm wrapped around him. "_You_ don't have to be able to," he reasoned. "Counterpunch does."

The other mech snorted a laugh despite himself. "Counterpunch strong enough? That'll be the orn."

* * *

_That battle. Those last moments on Cybertron rife with screaming and chaos, fighting and flying energon. Gunfire everywhere. Confusion thick as the smoke. _

_The _Ark _lifting into the air, swinging beyond the attacking Decepticons' grasps. _

_His spark. His painfully wrenching spark as it twisted and screamed in his sparkcase, crying out for his sparkmate as Menasor's foot connected with her. Her frame sailing through the air, landing in a tangled heap on the floor- his vocal processor hot as fire as he screamed for her. _

"_**Elita! No!"**_

_He wanted to run to her. Wanted to throw himself off the ship and run to her side. Ratchet's arms held him back, though. Even as he struggled, he couldn't budge. There was nothing he could do. He was the Commander. He was needed on the _Ark_. _

_His last glance of her in the thick of battle was of her frame unmoving, crumpled, broken. Obscured for a single moment as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe passed, toying with a mech three times their size, he looked back and she was no longer there. _

"Elita!"

Shaken from recharge by the vividness of the memory review, Optimus bolted upright, finding his arm already outstretched, trying to reach for his sparkmate. He let the limb fall back to his side. He never reached her. Every time that memory review played, no matter how many times it looped through his mind, he always awoke reaching for her, and then had to remind himself that she wasn't there.

He grunted as a hot flash of pain curled through his frame. It was not the normal throb of missing his sparkmate that he suffered from, which had become a constant presence in his being over the vorns- what he felt now was like stabbing. Like someone reaching in with white hot knives and twisting. This was what always followed the dreams. The blaze of it crippled him, doubling his large frame over. His loud gasps shuddered through the dark, silent room as he attempted to drag dry desert air in through his intakes.

Knowing the attack was only going to get worse, Optimus prepared for it by turning off his vocal processor, ensure there would be no noise to disturb anyone.

The second wave hit. Needles of fire and claws like cold, hard ice reaching in and griping his spark until black spots appeared across his vision. Had his vocals been on, he would have cried out, but instead he writhed in silent agony. Shaking arms wrapped around his torso as he fought to stay conscious. Optics flickering in and out. Pumps and fans working double time to keep up with the influx of internal pressure.

This was almost routine by now.

His processor, with some vendetta against, would cycle back to those last moments on Cybertron to torture him about his decision to leave, forcing him to relive those last moments as he recharged, subject to the torture he inscribed upon himself. He would see Elita One as he last remembered her, lying broken on the ground. It was always startling and fresh each time he saw her like that. He would awaken from the memory with the briefest flash that somehow, this time, he would actually reach her. His arm would already be out, just like this time. He would want nothing more than to awaken and see her by his side, safe and whole.

He was always disappointed.

And, as if in punishment for such foolish thoughts, his spark would ignite on fire, writhing in response to agony he inflicted upon his own conscience.

A sparkmate who had willingly separated from his other half; an abomination against nature itself.

This was his punishment.

He hoped to the Matrix and Primus beyond that Elita was not suffering the same torture. She was innocent. It had not been her decision to separate. He hoped she was okay. Unharmed.

He hoped she wasn't the one suffering this in the first place, and he was merely being fed the ghosts through their bond. If that was the case, he'd gladly kill himself now in hopes that Elita would follow soon after and not have to suffer through whatever pit she was in.

He gathered himself against the scorching energy thrumming in his sparkcase. He reached out to it, despite how badly he wanted to curl away from it. Trying desperately, as he always did, he sought the agony as if it were his own sparkmate and soothed it as if he were soothing Elita One.

Somehow, like always, it helped.

The pain abided slowly, arcing a few times when a fresh wave hit, then sinking back into the ether from which it came. In his recharge-slackened mind, as the last swell of fire breathed upon his being, an underlying caress swept his frame. It was a grace he sought and clung to at the end of the burn, though it was probably the most painful moment of the entire ordeal. The presence would embrace his spark as if it really _were_ Elita reaching back, even if it was only his own processor torturing him a final time, and her gentle astral fingers would grip his being tight, whisper apologies he could never hear, and then drift away until the next time the memory reviewed looped and he was plagued by another attack. How he hated that last hallucination, since it only spurred him to miss Elita more.

A gentle knock at his door startled him from his thoughts. Without thinking, he called for whoever was on the other side. A muted hiss signalled the door sliding open, the lights of the hall playing on the entering mech's sunny yellow armor, letting Optimus know exactly who was coming in.

"Bumblebee," he greeted, attempting to instil warmth into his shaking, now turned on, vocal processor.

"Sir?" the little scout breathed. Those wide optics were watching him carefully, the ghost of something akin to fear tracing over them. "Are you alright?"

Optimus grunted and shoved himself upright, moving to sit on the edge of the berth. "Yes, I am." He found himself absently rubbing at his chestplating as it throbbed in the aftermath of the attack.

The action was not lost on Bumblebee. His spy-trained optics fixated on the movement, watching carefully. "Is something hurting you? Do you want me to get Ratchet?" This wouldn't be the first time that the great Autobot Commander would have needed the medic summoned to his quarters for an ailment, but this was certainly the first time that Bumblebee had bared witness to what his Commander was suffering from. Usually it was Ironhide who went to him, or Jazz, or Ratchet. They usually let little Bumblebee continue pretending like he didn't know something was wrong.

But with Ironhide travelling back from Canada, Jazz gone, while Ratchet still in the med bay with Mirage and Smokescreen, Bumblebee was the only one in the barracks section to hear Optimus's initial grunt, and then the sounds of his muted writhing.

Optimus waved the scout off with a gentle dismissing hand. "I'm fine," he assured with a shaking exhalation. "There's no need for summoning Ratchet at the moment- he already has enough to deal with."

Bumblebee crept closer to the towering mech, drawn by the abject sorrow that he exuded. "Are you sure?" he asked cautiously.

Optimus sighed, nodding carefully. "Yes, I'm sure. There's no need to disturb anyone." He checked his chronometer, finding that he had been out good few joors- nearly three human days, and it was now just barely predawn. Not a time to be disturbing anyone- be it human or Cybertronian.

The minibot chirped, acquiescent of the request. He shifted awkwardly in the middle of the small room, unsure of what he was to do. He was saved any further awkwardness as Optimus watched him for an astrosecond before scooting over on the berth and patted the ledge beside him, indicating the mech should sit with him. Twittering in surprise, Bumblebee followed the order, perching beside his Commander carefully. They sat in silence together for several more tense moments, the scout continuing to shift uncomfortably while Optimus sat like a stone, silent and pensive.

"I bet you're wondering what happened," Optimus suddenly said, causing the scout to startle.

"Yes, a bit," the mech replied, then added, "I know something has been going on for a long time… Nobody said anything to me, but I could hear it. The _Ark_'s living quarters weren't that big, so I could hear it when the others would run to your rooms." He paused for a moment, glancing to his Commander with curious but careful optics. "I was always curious about it, but it didn't seem right to ask."

"To be honest, not even Ratchet knows exactly what is going on," Optimus admitted, knowing that it was only right to finally inform the young scout of the happenings that had been kept from him for so long. "He thinks that it may have something to do with my bond with Elita. Sparkmates have never been separated before for such long periods of time over such vast distances. Ratchet believes that the strain we are placing on this bond is forming some sort of backlash."

"How come Ironhide has never seemed to have an attack like yours?"

"Every bonding pair is different, as are the sparks that choose to bond together," Optimus reasoned with a sigh. "Ironhide and Chromia are as different from Elita and I as you are from Ratchet. Some things will affect us differently, which is completely understandable."

Bumblebee seemed a little disturbed though. "But while you suffer from whatever this is, Ironhide just stays… well, Ironhide."

Optimus chuckled, shaking his head. "Ironhide is suffering in his own way," he said softly. "He feels the loss of Chromia so acutely that every orn, he is in terrible, excruciating pain, but he refuses to allow Ratchet to give him any moderators for it. He lets his pain be a reminder of what he gave up to come on this mission, and what he has waiting for him out there in the universe."

The scout huffed a little. "Maybe he should let Ratchet give him a little something once in a while- maybe then he'd be in a little better mood."

A soft laugh escaped Optimus before he could catch himself. "I don't think there's a strong enough painkiller in Ratchet's arsenal for that." They shared a laugh at the weapons specialist's expense, grateful for the momentary release of tension. Soon enough, however, Bumblebee returned to his previous concerns.

"What about you, sir?" he asked.

"I deal with this in my own ways, as I have been doing all these vorns."

"Not with painkillers?"

The flame-painted mech shook his head. "No." He laid his hand over Bumblebee's smaller one and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I normally talk it out, like I'm doing now, with you."

The minibot's optics flashed wide. "I'm helping you?"

"Yes, very much," Optimus nodded.

Bumblebee twittered in return, proud to be of some service. "I- I'm glad." He then tipped his head curiously, debating whether or not to ask his question. He was having a one-on-one with Optimus at the moment, like they used to have long ago, but he wasn't sure how far to stretch it… "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what were you seeing while you were recharging?"

Optimus's frame tensed, and for a moment Bumblebee feared he was going to be thrown out. A great rush of air escaped the mech's vents as Optimus released a trembling sigh, sagging into a slouch that seemed unnatural for his regal frame.

"It was…" he paused, optics searching the air in front of him for something beyond Bumblebee's comprehension. "It was the last moments we had on Cybertron."

"I see…" there wasn't much else for the scout to say. His memories of that orn and those surrounding it were blurry and patched.

Optimus turned minutely to watch the scout with knowing optics, the same optics that had watched him from the very moment his spark had formed. "You don't remember much, do you?" he asked, changing the subject smoothly.

"I remember some things," the scout admitted. "Bit and pieces, but not a lot." Some memory files still haunted him when he recharged. He saw flashes of blurred colour and heard the murmur of whispered voices he could never quite make out.

Much unlike the scout, Optimus remembered those orns with a clarity that struck his very core. He remembered the tense moments waiting for the _Ark_ to come in, Bumblebee and Arcee being dragged off, surrounded by the Protectobots, clinging to threads of life. He recalled the dark moments waiting above the surgical bay, watching as Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and First Aid operated. The moments after when Prime stole away into the quiet ICU to speak with the recovering Autobots, the secrets he'd divulged to his sparkmate when she'd come along.

The secret that was Bumblebee's entire existence.

"Tell me what you remember," the older mech requested, his faceplate carefully blank.

The yellow mech hummed a little as he thought, sifting through vorns old memories carefully for those that were clearest. He leaned a little against Optimus's side, tipping his head so it was supported against the vibrant armour- something he had done when he was young, when rank and rules did not apply.

"The ICU… I remember laying in the ICU with the drones wandering around checking on me. I know I was offline for most of the time, but there were a few breems when I was online enough to look around. The most I remember seeing is Arcee."

Optimus's audios spun a little as he detected the slight change in the mech's voice as he spoke the femme's designation.

"I would stay online for as long as I could just to watch her float in the CR chamber. I'd ask Primus over and over to make sure she'd be okay. I would have given anything for her to be okay…" he shifted a little, turning his faceplate to the floor. "I would have given my spark just to see her optics light up."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Optimus assured. "You cared very deeply for her. You put up quite the fight when I tried to evacuate you from the ICU without her."

Bumblebee smiled ruefully, unable to remember that part. "I still care for her very much, sir," he said quietly. One of the clearest memories he had was of holding the little femme in his arms as her frame jerked and flailed under the throes of the Alpha-class virus she'd just been infected with. He remembered the fear and hysteria as he cradled her, cooing and wishing he had a working vocal processor at the time so he could have responded to Arcee's last words.

"_I…I couldn't let…Bee get hurt. I- I care t-too much f-f-for hiiimmm…"_

He cared for her too. Not past tense. He still did, in ways that made him anxious to see her again, causing his spark to skip a pulse at the thought of her, wanting nothing more than to reach out and fold her tiny frame against his in an embrace with a desire he had no name for.

Seeing the dimness that came over the scout's optics, Optimus offered his arm in comfort and gave the young mech a gentle one-armed hug. "Anything else?" he asked, leaving the question open enough for Bumblebee to end the conversation if he wanted.

"One other thing," the minibot admitted.

"And what would that be?"

"You and Elita One."

Optimus froze, processing the words carefully. It was very hard for a voice to crack in Cybertronian since the frequencies used were so quick and high-pitched in the first place, but Optimus's voice cracked dryly as he attempted to respond. "Me and- and Elita?"

"Yeah… the two of you in the ICU talking, I think," Bumblebee elaborated quietly. "I couldn't hear all of it, only some of it." His gaze flicked to his Commander's, trying to gauge the expression he was being fixed with. Was Optimus angry with him, shocked, or what that fear on his faceplate? "O-Optimus?"

The flame-painted mech did his best to compose himself. "What, exactly, did you hear?" he asked, his voice so low that Bumblebee had to strain to hear it.

"I don't know… You were talking about the Allspark, maybe. Something about how some bots thought that the Allspark left some kind of residual energy in the sparks it made." He put a hand to his head, his processor starting to hurt from all the sorting he was having to do in order to get the information straight. "It was all just theories, though. No one's ever been able to prove that the Allspark left behind any kind of dormant energy in a spark."

The look Optimus was fixing the scout with at the moment was seriously starting to scare Bumblebee. It was too deep, too calculating to be normal. It was as if Optimus Prime was looking past his wires and circuitry into the mech beneath, into his very spark core. The feeling sent shivers up his spinal column. He'd touched a nerve in Optimus that he'd never hit before.

Optimus's sudden movement spooked the scout, not expecting the Commander to move so swiftly off the berth. He had to catch himself before he fell to the side. A hand grazed against the top of his head, patting the armor there in a reassuring sort of way- not reassuring to Bumblebee, but to Optimus himself. His optics had still not returned to normal; they were still too unfathomable to look directly into. He was thinking.

Finally, the silence was broken, Optimus small huff of air heralding the return of his normal, understanding expression; a decision finally rendered. He offered a small smile that was a little sad, as Prime's smiles tended to be, and patted Bumblebee once more on the head.

"I think it's time we started our orn, Bumblebee."


	14. Fairy Tales Don't Last

So here's chapter 14! It a little rambling- 24 pages worth of ramblings, actually. Um… Can't say much about it, other than I hope you all enjoy. It's really late as I'm typing this, and I'm extremely tired, so I'll save any further AN torture for another time.

My usual, great big awesome thanks to my wonderful reviewers- **Elita One, Flameshield, Bluebird Soaring, Birdman45, firebird234, Jason M. Lee, Freakish Child, Bunnylass, theshadowcat, Chloo, Daebereth, Litahatchee**, and **PandylBas**!

Plus, a couple of awesome shout outs to **Violetlight**, who edited a good portion of this chapter, **Litahatchee**, for her amazing two reviews of the last chapter (with presumably a third coming for the last part of the chap), and **Lecidre**, who actually did some fanart for my one-shot _Before I Fade Away!_

_Molson's Canadian- _a brand of Canadian beer whose famous catchphrase is "I Am Canadian." Pretty much, if you're Canadian, either someone in your family has a t-shirt with that on it or someone you know has the t-shirt.

_Hound having a bed- _Hound is a Jeep Gladiator, a model of Jeep I chose for its size and power potential, but my guess is that the majority of my readers have never _seen_ a Gladiator before, so, in a nutshell, it's Jeep's attempt at a full-sized pickup. It's a beautiful, massive pickup truck with a sizeable bed on the back. The moment I saw one, I fell in love.

_Microbot default settings- _the default settings of the vocal processors gets higher pitched the smaller the frame. In order of lowest to highest pitched voices: regular mechs, minibots, femmes, microbots. Thank Primus the settings can be adjusted.

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Fairy Tales Don't Last**

"Here?" There was a loud metallic bang as the spot being asked about was indicated by a powerful wallop with a wrench.

"No, down further."

"How about here?" –followed by a bang as the wrench struck the indicated spot.

"Ah… no. You're close though. Ah think it might be under mah engine."

There was a grunt as a human body was dragged farther underneath the Jeep's undercarriage, eyes squinting up into the maze of automotive parts suspended above her. Practised organic hands rummaged through the grimed metal, smearing away oil and road grease to get a peek at what lay beneath.

"Think you can give me a better hint than 'under my engine'?"

"Ah can't locate the exact spot with just mah pressure sensor grid. But if you want me to, Ah could…" A shudder ran through the length of the Jeep, a familiar move that had the human tense in an instant, ramming her wrench into the nearest sensitive-looking spot she could find.

"Don't you dare try turning on those neural thingies again!" she snarled. "You said it hurt too much last time, and I am _not_ going through all that shit of trying to calm you down like last time."

"It would make finding the obstruction easier."

"And make my life a whole lot hard harder. No thank you. I'll find the damn thing on my own," she spat, sharp eyes suddenly catching on a glinting shard wedged high into the machinery above her. "See? I think I found it." Arching up, contorting her arm around the mess of metal, she poked the chunk of glass bottle. In return, the Jeep hissed and attempted to shy away. "That it?"

"Yes," Hound confirmed in a tightly reigned hiss.

Chase snorted and rolled herself out from under the alien, standing, and then wiping her dirtied hands down the front of her "work outfit"- which consisted of a navy-blue grease-stained mechanic's suit, the top half rolled down and knotted at her waist, and an old Molson's Canadian t-shirt. No longer shielded from the sun as she had been under the Jeep, the late afternoon light hit her eyes hard, forcing her to grimace and squint as she wandered around to Hound's bed and hopped up carelessly.

"You should have listened to me when I said _don't take the damn alley_," she chastised grumpily, grabbing her water and downing the last bit of it. Finishing, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Now you got a broken piece of glass stuck up there!"

Hound shifted, a sudden electric current thrumming through his frame as his holographic emitters activated. Chase did a preliminary sweep of the back lot they sat in, careful to make sure no one was around to witness the sudden materialization of Hound's chosen holoform. Once sure the garage's back lot was devoid of prying eyes, she gave the Jeep a firm pat, signalling that it was safe to do his holo-thing.

"Can you get it out?" Hound asked, the mouth of his hologram not even bothering to follow along with the words being said.

"Yeah, I can get it out, but that's not the point. The point is you were stupid. You didn't listen to the primitive squishy alien sitting in your driver's seat and you got a piece of glass shoved up under your engine for it." The primitive squishy alien sniffed stubbornly. "Never forget, on this planet, karma is a bitch."

"Ah am sorry Ah didn't listen to you, Chase, Ah really am. Ah was only curious of the route," the alien replied humbly.

"Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat," she countered. "Or should I say _dog_?" Her gaze narrowed accusingly on the blood hound that had materialized next to her a second before; a perfect replica of the dog that lived a couple streets down from her house.

Said 'dog' stared back unblinkingly. From the speakers in the cab came Hound's slightly confused voice. "…pardon?"

Chase snapped her mouth open to reply, and then suddenly thought better of it. "Never mind," she sighed. When she had expressed the annoyance of not knowing where to look when talking to Hound, she sure didn't have _this_ in mind. There was no way in hell she was having _another_ conversation with the damn holo-dog at work. Her boss and several co-workers had already caught her at it a few times and were beginning to question her sobriety on the job.

"Must you look like that?" she asked resentfully.

"Ah like this form," Hound pouted. Even if the dog didn't have any expression, his voice did it well enough for him. "Maintaining it is far more energy efficient than trying ta keep up with the complexities of a human guise."

"But-!"

"Ah really do like it, Chase."

She huffed in defeat. _"Fine."_

"Besides, it serves its purpose, doesn't it?"

"If you say so."

"Well, you have somewhere to focus when speaking with me, and that's what you wanted." Hound sounded way too cheerful when saying that.

"I don't like talking to a dog," Chase groused sourly. "I can't even pet you." As if to prove her point, she let her hand hover above the blood hound's head before dropping straight through without any resistance besides a ripple effect that traveled through the hologram.

"If Ah had enough energy left in mah reserves to use mah holo-matter emitters, Ah would, but as it stands, Ah am far too depleted ta try. I barely have enough ta use the light-an'-field emitters," Hound reasoned. "Ah've been charging mah solar cells for the last 4 or 5 orns, but it takes a pit of a lot of sun ta equal a single cube of energon. Ah'll probably need another Earth month ta have enough energy ta sustain a good holo-matter image."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't push yourself," Chase sighed. "You still got that- that "Moo-class" virus thingy in you."

Hound couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped him. "_Mu-_class virus," he corrected. "Ah'll try mah hardest not to stress mahself." He then shifted on his wheels, rocking his human companion slightly. "Now, are you going ta do anything about the glass?"

Chase scrunched her face a little. "That depends. Are you going to do anything about that damn accent?"

"You're just revving for a fight today, aren't ya?"

"It's been a hard month, cut me some slack. Now, accent?"

"Chase…"

"You know it annoys the piss out me."

"Ah've been toning it down, though! It's not as bad as when Ah first tried it," he reasoned, turning his holo-dog's drooping, lethargic eyes on the human in an expression of uninhibited begging.

Chase was not to be swayed, glaring balefully back. "It still pisses me off. You're not from the south; you're not even from Earth. You're an _alien, _as in _from another planet_. It's like your making fun of us simpleton humans by imitating us like that. It was better when you talked like a dictionary."

"Ah've told you, Chase, it's a way of life for mah kind to imitate others. Ah'm not doing it to be spiteful or make fun of anybody, it's just the way Ah am," Hound explained patiently, though the hint of humour in his voice was not lost on the human. "We change ourselves to suit our new environments, transform to adapt, imitate to explore-."

"Stupid monkey-see-monkey-do fucking aliens," Chase growled under her breath as she pushed herself off the bed and marched her way around to the front again. "You know what? Fine, keep the accent. Keep the damn holo-dog. Just don't talk to me for the next ten minutes while I'm getting the glass out."

"Deal."

"Good." She situated herself on the little scooter board on the cracked pavement and pulled herself under. "You better heal up fast, buddy, because if I have to take another month of housing you in my shed with Mikaela constantly looking over my shoulder like I'm hiding a meth lab, talking to a stupid dog with a friggin' hillbilly accent, so help me God, _I'm_ gonna send you right back into space. You hear me? Hound? _…Hound_?"

"Mah ten minutes aren't up."

Chase rolled her eyes as she wrenched out the shard of glass, smothering a string of curses as a clump of trapped dirt and oil spattered across her face. "I _hate_ aliens."

* * *

Pulling her beloved Vespa into the front lot of Geary's Garage, Mikaela parked and swung off, tugging her helmet away and swinging loose her hair, laughing when several playful whistles from the employees of the shop drifted her way.

"Been a while since we've seen you around here, dolly" Geary said by way of greeting, leaning against the side of the black SUV he was working on.

"I've been busy," Mikaela replied, helpless to the smile that played on her lips despite her previously rotten mood. She couldn't help it, she liked the owner of the shop where her aunt worked; he'd been good to the both of them.

"School and friends, right?" Geary asked, laughing.

"Yeah, you could say that," the young woman replied, shrugging.

"Well, it's good to see you. Now c'mere and give ol' Geary a hug." He was a big man, barrel-chested with beefy arms and a grizzled beard that was braided down his front; a stained bandana was tied tight over his wild, permanently wind-blown hair. He had the look of a rogue biker, but his friendly eyes and ready smile revealed the sweetheart beneath. When he opened his thick arms, all Mikaela could do was trot over and attempt to wrap her arms around his broad chest as she was crushed to him.

Once she thoroughly had the air squeezed from her, Geary released her and took a step back, looking her up and down like a proud father or a favourite uncle. "You just keep getting prettier and prettier every time I see you," he said warmly. "Pretty like your aunt."

"Thanks," Mikaela replied, successfully resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"God forbid she get a temper like her aunt," someone piped in laughingly. The other mechanics laughed until Geary shot them a wary eye, to which Mikaela was grateful.

"Lay off the woman, would ya?" Geary said, but his deep voice resonated like a growl. "She's had a hard month trying to fix up that Gladiator of hers- you know how much she loved it. Any one of you would've been bawling for a month if your trucks had been totalled."

"You sure she ain't just pissy 'cause it's still too hot out for her?" another guy asked, grinning.

Someone chimed in with a joking "Damn Canadians, eh," that had Mikaela rolling her eyes, knowing the guy wouldn't have dared tried saying that while her vicious aunt was in the garage.

Geary blustered on behalf of the Banes females. "One more word out of you lot and I'll have your asses out on the street without a job before you can blink. I'm damn sure our little dolly here didn't come to listen to her aunt get trashed." Mikaela hid her smile, leaning on Geary's arm comfortably as the big man made his employees sweat on behalf of her dysfunctional family. Once sure he was going to get not backtalk, he clapped Mikaela on the shoulders and offered another smile as if nothing had happened. "Now I bet you're here looking for Chase, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to, well- check up on her, I guess."

Geary fixed her with a warm smile, nodding. "She's out in the back lot. Just go on out, don't mind us."

"Thanks." She offered him one last smile before weaving her way through the small shop to the hallway hidden in the back where Geary's office and the door to the back lot was stuffed away. Slipping out into the fenced in area, the wide gate leading onto the road closed, it only took a moment of peering around the car-cluttered lot before spotting the distinctly massive form of the Jeep Gladiator in the far corner nearest the gate, and then a flutter of movement a few cars down as Chase's form straightened, then stretched.

"Hey," Mikaela called, beginning to make her way over.

"Hey yourself," Chase replied, offering a brief smile before returning to her previous work tuning the engine of a pristine '78 Mustang. When Mikaela had made it to the car and silently slid to her aunt's side, taking up the unspoken offer to help on the spotless engine, Chase's harsh, sharp eyes cast her a glance.

"Been a good girl today?" she asked lightly, jokingly.

"Been nice to anyone today?" Mikaela replied in kind.

"I'm always nice," her aunt huffed.

"Then I've been a good girl," she shrugged. With pleasantries aside, they both laughed and rolled their eyes.

"What are you really here for?" Chase enquired.

"Just checking up on you, seeing how you're doing," Mikaela answered truthfully. "I hardly see you at home anymore- you're always in the shed. I'm starting to miss you, sort of."

"Gee, I feel the love, kid," the older woman snorted. "As soon as I get all the dents banged out, you'll see me again. Maybe."

"You're acting really differently, though," Mikaela pointed. The most notable thing being the drastic reduction in Chase's drinking- still not below alcoholic status, but at least she was coherent for longer periods of time and not once did Mikaela find her passed out on the front lawn in the morning. Second most noticeable thing being her aunt's newly developed habit to stay up all hours of the night with the TV dragged out to the shed, where the grumpy, raspy murmur of her voice carried into the house as she spoke to herself.

"Some things happened. I'm just trying on a change." She sounded more defensive than usual.

Mikaela's mouth pursed, digging for more evidence of unusual activity. "You painted your truck green."

Chase's body stiffened visibly. "I said I was trying on a change."

"You _hate_ green."

Chase swung her head around to give her niece a decidedly flat stare. "It's a really big change," she growled, daring the younger woman to question her further.

Instantly recognizing the tone as the growl before a Rottweiler bit someone, Mikaela backed down. "Okay, fine, big change. Whatever," she said, exhaling an exasperated breath.

Chase absently dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell, checking the time. "You're here awfully late, you know. It's almost five."

Mikaela's hands stilled, and then pulled away from the Mustang engine. "I stayed late after school helping some guys from the shop class," she explained. She didn't bother to mention the fact that she'd agreed to stay late so she wouldn't have to hop a ride with Sam. She just needed a little time for herself today.

"Is that so? I hope you showed them that having boobs doesn't mean we can't hold a wrench," Chase laughed.

"Yeah, I showed them," Mikaela said, though with a lot less amusement.

Catching the certain tone in the younger girl's voice, Chase ceased her work. "Alright, you got me, what's up?"

"It's nothing," was the immediate answer.

"It's not 'nothing' if you're acting like someone pissed all over your parade," the older Banes' female pointed out. "It has to do with the pansy-boy, doesn't it?" She knew she was right when Mikaela's spine stiffened. "Ha, I knew it. He got you pregnant, didn't he?"

"No!"

"Okay, fine, just a joke," Chase amended, hands up in defence. "But this does have something to do with him, right?"

"It's not just him," the younger Banes' girl countered, her face furrowed slightly. "It's… _everyone_."

"What do you mean?"

Mikaela worried her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling a minor breath of relief now that she had someone to talk to about her problems- even if it was only her lemon-hearted aunt. "Everybody's on my case at school," she admitted. "It's really starting to bother me. This is my senior year and everyone is making it hell."

"The harpies?"

"And the jocks." She shook her head, scrubbing her face with a hand. "I didn't think it would be this bad. I mean, I haven't _done_ anything." Really, the only things she'd done so far in the school year was switch a few of her courses to automotive classes and make it public knowledge that she was going out with Sam Witwicky. Of course, looking back, although she was reluctant to admit it, both were pretty good reasons to have her ex-friends and once-admiring jocks turn their wrath on her. She'd given them pretty good ammo for torture and exile.

"Teenagers can be cruel little bastards," Chase snorted.

"I honestly don't know what to do anymore," Mikaela sighed. She'd always been part of the in-crowd; blessed with good looks and perky boobs, she'd always been the subject of teenaged wet dreams and the envy of other teenaged girls, both jockeying each other to get closer in hopes of getting a piece. Sure, it bothered her before, but now... Now that she was on the outside with the world's cruelties pitted against her, she had no defence.

Sam was a little better off. He still had Miles to fall back on. And Bumblebee. Plus, he was used to being on the outside, laughed at instead of laughed with. Picked on and pushed about. It was worse this year, of course, thanks to her. A few of the guys on base had started teaching him some basic martial arts, so if the shoving escalated in school he knew he could take them, but he was careful not to draw more attention to himself.

He did what he could to comfort her, despite his own hurts, watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye when they walked together down the halls, only taking her hand when no one could see; sneaking kisses when he knew there was no one around to say anything. He was so attuned to her, so attentive, that the feeling was alien to her. Was this how a middle-class suburban kid from a loving family treated someone they liked? She felt undeserving of it.

A solid arm wrapped around her. "Quit school," her aunt offered honestly. "Drop out, you can work here. There's always getting a GED."

"I want to finish high school," Mikaela said softly, shaking her head. "You did it. You even got a degree."

"Yeah, but am I happy?" The solid arm around her gave her a brief, tight squeeze. "Honey, I'm 37, alone, and miserable. I'm the last person you should be looking for advice from."

Mikaela nodded, leaning into her aunt's body, breathing in the familiar scent that always lingered- washing detergent, stale alcohol, and the warm smell of human. "I know. Thanks anyways. It was nice having someone to talk to."

"No problem," Chase shrugged. "But, if you _really_ wanted my advice, I'd tell you to lay into the first bitch who tries to mess with you tomorrow. Break her nose, or something. You're a Banes after all, I know you can 'em."

Mikaela couldn't help the brief laugh escaping her. "I'll remember that."

"You better," her aunt ordered playfully, giving a final hug before stepping away. "Shouldn't you be getting home by now?"

"I'm actually not going to be home 'till late," she announced, then said, "I'm going out with some friends," because she knew that Chase wouldn't bother to enquire further, nor would she care that it was a school night.

Chase simply nodded. "Alright, in that case, I might as well give you something now-." She turned and sauntered her way over to her Jeep, whose door seemed to pop open before her hand even touched the handle. Hopping in and rummaging for a bit, she clambered down with a white envelope clutched in one hand, using the other to slam the door closed with more force than necessary, seemingly swearing at it. Wandering back, she handed the letter over. "It came in the mail for you today. I accidentally snatched it when I grabbed the paper before I left."

Examining it, Mikaela immediately recognized the untidy scrawl across the front. "A letter from dad?"

"Looks like it," Chase replied, her face grimacing slightly. She held a lot less love for her older brother than Mikaela had for the man.

With her heart beating an anxious, excited tempo against her ribs, Mikaela ripped into the envelope, snatching the paper inside. It was so rare when she heard from her dad, be it by phone, e-mail, or a letter. All anxiety from earlier disappeared as she poured over the familiar writing, grinning as she pictured her father scribbling out the letter somewhere. Disbelief washed over her face as the first few lines sunk in.

"It says he's been let out early!" she announced breathlessly, grinning.

The news had the opposite affect on her aunt, who scowled deeply. "He shouldn't have even gotten parole for another couple months."

Mikaela's eyes darted quickly over the words. "Some people came and got him out- it doesn't say who."

"Well that's not suspicious," Chase snorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I bet it's gang related."

"It is not! He's never been in a gang!" But her eyes were still scanning the letter rapidly. "They need him for something. They want him to… _oh_." Instantly her face fell.

"What?"

"They want him to do "fieldwork" for them." Her eyes clouded, face darkened. All the excitement was gone from her voice. "He says he might be gone for a while with them, but he'll visit as soon as he can."

"Visit?" Chase choked, ripping the paper away. "What they hell does he mean '_visit_'? This is his home!" Pouring over the letter, the older woman's face crumpled. "That rat bastard! I gave up my entire life to come here! The least he could do is damn well come back!"

Too many stresses being piled on top of each other were becoming a little too much force for Mikaela to hold back- a strangled sniff escaped her. "Look, um… I've got to get going, okay? My friends will be expecting me." She had a hard time keeping her voice steady, turning quickly to escape. Her aunt cursed softly to herself.

"Aw, Mickey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it-." She reached out to draw her back but her fingers slipped over the cotton of Mikaela's shirt, allowing the younger Banes girl to disappear out of the lot.

* * *

Optimus combed the sky carefully, watching pensively as the celestial bodies of distant stars moved on in a silent, ancient dance. One hand rose absently to his chestplates, resting there as a dull throb sluggishly made itself known. Bumblebee's gaze strayed when he caught the movement, but, following Ironhide's lead, he looked away after an astrosecond, back to the small area at their feet where Epps was teaching Sam some more fighting techniques.

Ratchet, on the other hand, did not bother to be so acquiescing. **"You're spark's hurting again, isn't it?" **he asked.

"**I'm fine," **Optimus assured, waving off the medic's concerns with a dismissive hand. **"This is nothing new." **

"**Don't pull an Ironhide on me, Prime. If you're not feeling well, you should head back to base. Get some rest. You shouldn't be out here straining yourself." **

Mirage glanced away from the sky, optics darting to Optimus, then to Ratchet. **"Is something the matter?" **

"**His spark gives him trouble,"** Ratchet grunted, faceplate pursed. He was in a notably worse mood than usual because he couldn't keep the Master Spy in the med bay at all once he caught word that Blaster would be landing. His protoform was nearly healed, but he still wasn't strong enough to support his own armor, so while it sat waiting in the med bay, glossy and pristine after all the joors Bumblebee had taken to reshape the twisted pieces of metal, the Autobots had to indulge in the many naked jokes the humans were heaping out in honour of Mirage wandering around sans his armor.

The medic's only solace was the fact that he was able to waylay Smokescreen from coming along. The poor mech was still in pretty bad shape.

"**Has something happened to his spark?"** the spy asked worriedly, optics instantly dropping to where Optimus's hand protectively laid over the ache.

"**Nothing that one wouldn't expect from sparkmates who've been separated for so long,"** ratchet replied testily. His hand flicked in Ironhide and Optimus's directions. **"These two have become the epitome of recklessness, refusing treatment for the pain, putting further stress on their sparks by strenuous activity-."**

"**I would hardly call standing around a strenuous activity," **Optimus replied, shifting on his feet. **"I would much rather be here waiting for Blaster than isolated on base without any idea of what was going on." **

"**And I would rather you-."**

"**Just drop it, Ratch'." **Ironhide commanded tiredly. He tore his gaze away from the primitive death match going on at his feet, Epps having captured Sam in a headlock and ruthlessly serving him a noogie, only to give Ratchet a narrowed look, arms crossed.** "If the mech says he doesn't want to go to base then he doesn't want to go to base, end of story. Just let him hurt if that's what he wants."**

"**You are as primitive as the species on this planet," **Ratchet growled.

Ironhide's cannons suddenly whirred to life. **"You want to say that again, medic," **he dared.

Bumblebee hissed, slipping between the burly mech and the incensed medic. **"Don't fight!" **he commanded, faceplate set. **"This is supposed to be a good occasion! Blaster is going to be landing soon and I am not going to let you two ruin it!" **

Impressed by the level of maturity the scout was displaying, Mirage nodded and stepped up to the minibot's side. **"I am with Bumblebee on this. I will not allow your squabbling to overrun this occasion. It has been a long time since there has been any happy occasion to celebrate amongst the Autobots; at least allow this one to be decent." **

Ratchet backed down first, snorting indelicately. It took a few astroseconds, and some hard glares, for Ironhide to finally put his cannons away, but he did with a dark rumble. By now used to the aliens carrying on private conversations above them in their own language, the humans below remained ignorant and unworried of how close they came to becoming flattened in the brawl that nearly was. Even the appearance of Ironhide's cannons caused little stir.

"**Now that we have that all sorted out, can we please drop the subject at hand for something a little more pleasant? Perhaps in English, so as to include our human friends?" **Optimus suggested, though his hand never dropped from his chassis.

"**I will not drop the subject so easily, Optimus,"** Ratchet pressed**. "I am a medic and I refuse to leave any one of my patients in pain. That includes you." **All four of the assembled Autobots revved with laughter as if Ratchet had told a very funny joke, inciting a fiery glare from the offended medic. "**I'll have you all know I can hurt you in very painful ways," **he threatened darkly.

"**Don't we know it," **Ironhide snorted. **"I seem to remember a certain medic **_**forgetting**_** to administer anaesthetics during repairs-." **

"**Are you accusing me of malpractice, rust bucket?" **Ratchet hissed, his voice like steel.

"**If the armor fits…" **

Mirage sighed in annoyance, shaking his un-armored head. He sent Bumblebee an imploring look. **"They haven't change a bit, have they?" **

Bumblebee shrugged helplessly, quirking his faceplate in a hapless half-smile. **"No, not a bit." **

"**I hope that doesn't mean we have to shoot one of them to end this." **

"**They're like young sparklings," **Optimus interjected amusedly.** "All they need is a distraction. Luckily, one is on her way." **He turned his faceplate to the wide expanse of desert, in the direction that his proximity sensors were picking up the incoming entity. The others picked up on it as well, turning to the flat plains to see a small speck of light bumping closer in the gloom. Just as Optimus predicted, Ironhide and Ratchet dropped their offensive stances in order to greet the approaching human. The high-pitched whine of an over-worked engine was loud enough for the humans to catch it, alerting them to the newcomer.

"I give, Epps! Uncle! Let me go!" Sam begged, wriggling desperately with newfound fervour now that his girlfriend was approaching.

"Say the magic words, kid!" the tech sergeant teased, scrubbing the boy's head with his knuckles again.

"You fight dirty, you damn jerk!" Sam choked out between strangled breaths.

"I can't hear you!"

Maggie glanced up from where she was seated next to Glen as he surfed the net, the WiFi connection courtesy of the five giant routers kindly standing around. "Let him go, Bobby. Give him a little dignity before Mikaela gets here."

At her soft spoken request, Epps relinquished his chokehold, helping Sam up when he flailed to the ground. "You're lucky Mags' has a soft spot for you," he said with a grin.

Sam gave a rueful smile, replying in a quiet tone reserved for just-between-men conversations. "You mean I'm lucky she's got you by the balls." He slid away before Epps could punch him in the arm.

Bumblebee made a disapproving sound as the Vespa came puttering into the small area they were all occupying, his expression clearly disappointed in Mikaela's mode of transportation. She refused a ride with him for _that_?

Sam had no such qualms about his girlfriend's mode of transportation, jogging to her side as the small vehicle came to a slow, rolling stop. His grin was evident in the night as he waited for her to dismount and tug her helmet off, ducking in to steal a sweet peck on the lips as greeting. "Hey, Mikaela."

Mikaela's smile was a little watery when her face caught in the light of Ratchet's powerful headlights. "Hey, Sam," she greeted quietly, and then summed up enough false energy to give a louder, "Hey everyone."

There was a smattering of returned greetings as Sam led the newly arrived Mikaela to the makeshift camp the humans of the small ragtag group had set up for themselves, including a large blanket on the ground, lawn chairs, and a cooler filled with ice and drinks. Giving up on sparring for now, Sam chose to sit with his girlfriend on the blanket.

"You're late," he teased, smiling a quirky smile.

"I know," she replied, trying not to look at him. She instantly plastered her eyes to the sky, watching as Optimus had been for any sign of a shooting star that was really a robot in disguise.

"I could have transported you here sooner, Mikaela," Bumblebee piped in, but he did not sit down with them while his ex-division Commander stood near, watching, listening. "It would have been far easier than trying to discern our location on your own, plus far quicker." His distain for the Vespa was all but dripping from his voice.

"It's fine. There were things I had to do after school," the young woman shrugged. "Besides, the guys on base pointed me in the right direction when I got there." It took her about an hour of following dusty tire tracks before she got to where she was, but there was hardly any use in complaining. Too many people were suspicious from the last "meteor" that crash-landed in the area, and there was too much alien hype in the media for anyone to be comfortable. It was better to spread the landings out as far as possible to be safe rather than be sorry and on the news. "Sorry if I missed anything."

Glen pressed a cold can of Coke to her arm, offering it with a friendly grin. "Ya missed nothing," he informed her. "Party's just getting started."

"That's good," she replied, taking the offered Coke, cracking it open, and then downing the can. "How long until the new Autobot gets here?"

Ratchet crouched to accommodate the short humans so that they wouldn't have to crane their necks in order to see him while he spoke. "It may be a while yet," he informed. "While our comrade was able to make good time getting to the wormhole by hitching a ride upon a merchant ship, he is now traveling to the planet on his steam. Understandably, our own space propulsion systems are a lot slower than that of a spacecraft's."

Prime crouched next to the medic. "In the last communiqué we exchanged with him, he made it clear that he was nearing Earth's atmosphere. It may only be another hour or so before he makes planet fall."

Mirage did not crouch when he spoke, so his faceplate was in shadow, only his ice-coloured optics visible. "That is assuming he does not make any detours along the way." Even if the humans couldn't make out his alien face, he sounded benignly amused. "He has been known to be… fashionably late for many occasions because of his distractions."

"Sounds like he'll be fun to have around," Epps laughed.

Bumblebee chirped, nodding happily. "Oh yes, he has always been a lot of fun to have around. He has a gift for lightening moods."

As the conversation grew more focused on the Autobots trying to describe the mech landing tonight, Mikaela found herself zoning out. While voices drifted about her, she simply watched the sky without taking much in. As the desert air began to drop to a crisp temperature, Sam's arm cautiously stretched out to wrap around Mikaela's shoulders, causing her to startle. Subtly shifting, as if trying to get a kink out of her spine, she dislodged his arm. When she finally zoned back into the world around her, the conversation had died down to brief spurts every now and then.

As the Autobots reverted to conversing in their own tongue again, Mikaela leaned back to peer at Glen as his face crumpled in over exaggerated concentration. His broad features were put into sharp relief from the blue illumination offered by the laptop in his lap.

"Find anything good tonight?" Mikaela enquired, her voice, although quiet, was enough to startle her fellow humans. Maggie, who appeared to have drifted off with her head on Epps' shoulder, snorted and jerked up, hitting her man-pillow when he laughed at her.

"That depends," Glen shrugged. "Weird things have been popping up lately, pictures here and there and a couple of videos on YouTube. Might be something serious and might not be."

"You know it's serious when something hits YouTube," Sam joked.

Epps squinted to get a look at what Glen was watching at the moment. "That looks like Tranquility," he commented offhandedly, startled by the blatant resemblance to the destroyed parking lot he'd caught sight of when he and his team returned from Canada.

"It is," the hacker replied, focusing on the video- it was shaky and blurry, taken at the grey of dawn on someone's really bad cell phone. "Looks like those Neutral-Con guys didn't do too good a job on wiping everyone's stuff." It showed the ruins of the parking lot, close ups on the claw marks gouged into the cement, craters indented into the ground as if two very large bodies were slammed there. There were a few seconds worth of video getting close ups of the large footprints Soundwave had left behind in the road.

"You can take that down, can't you?" Maggie asked, stifling a yawn.

"Oh yeah, no problem," the hacker laughed, fitting his glasses on firmly. "Watch the master work- I'll have it down in a sec."

"What about the other stuff?" Epps enquired.

"I'll get to that too," Glen assured as he went about his hacker duties proudly. "Most of it is on alien-fanatic sites anyways. If you _really_ wanted me to, I could crash the whole site."

Maggie laid a hand on the big man's shoulder, rolling her eyes. "Just stick with the incriminating evidence for now, Glen."

"Whatever you say," he shrugged, obviously put out that he couldn't have his fun like he wanted to.

Optimus crouched low to their level, peering that them. "I will speak with Soundwave about this," he said. "There may be other footage that his symbiotes missed."

Mirage and Ironhide exchanged dark looks, not liking the idea of interacting with the supposed "Neutrals" as if they were equals. Even if they'd been silent for the entire month of September, secluded in the coastal region Virus had refused to be moved from, that was no reason _not_ to think of them as dangerous.

"So long as they're taken down quickly, they can't cause that much damage," Maggie reasoned. "There's always been- um, excuse the term- "alien freaks" out there with videos and pictures that are supposed to prove the existence of aliens. For the majority of the planet, aliens _still_ don't exist and the pictures are just a load a crap made up by a crazy few."

Optimus exchanged a rueful glance with his mechs. "Well, that scepticism does play in our favour, doesn't it? Nevertheless, I will still speak with Soundwave over the matter. He and his group will have to be a little more vigilant in the future if ever we call on them for a task like this."

"Hopefully we will never have to call on them in the future," Mirage stated icily.

"We can only hope," Ironhide rumbled, snorting air through his vents hard enough to stir the dirt at his feet.

Prime shot his weapons specialist and Master Spy reproving looks. "Neither Soundwave nor the Neutral sect he now commands has presented any hostility towards us or the humans in the month that they have been left to their own devices. I would prefer you not-," he consulted his lingual files for a moment, "_jinx_ our good fortune with them."

"Flamewar is as unpredictable as a rabid beast. She is not to be trusted, regardless of what she says or who appears to command her," Mirage growled. "Now that she is _bonded_-," he said the word as if it were a disgusting curse, "her volatility is increased, as is her unpredictability."

"I trust Soundwave will be enough to contain her if need be," Optimus said firmly.

"The leniency you are displaying to them is an unwarranted risk," Mirage pressed.

"I don't believe so," the flame-painted mech countered, his optics narrowing.

"You're a fool if you're placing your trust in that Decepticon," the Master Spy replied coldly.

Optimus's form seemed to swell in the dark night, his optics narrowing as his frame loomed powerfully over Mirage's considerably smaller one. **"We are not getting into this in front of the humans. If you wish to press the issue, you will bring it up with me at another time." **

Instantly realizing that he may have overstepped a boundary, Mirage backed down, bowing deeply. **"My apologies. I was not thinking." **

Optimus stared down at his Master Spy, his expression softening only minutely. He reverted to English. "I may not be as well informed of the machinations of the Deceptions through the vorns as you are, but I still have enough processing power to see where inciting a useless fight with an enemy who only wishes to be left alone could get us. I assure you that I do not take our truce with the _Darksyde_ lightly."

"Of course. My apologies, Optimus Prime," Mirage repeated, still bowed.

Unsettled by the sudden air of formality that had suddenly thickened the atmosphere, accustomed to the grandeur Optimus normally displayed but not the powerful Commander that lurked below the surface, the humans shifted uncomfortably. They were made sickeningly aware of how small they were compared to these metal giants, how easy it would have been for one of them to stick their foot out and crush them, how utterly lucky they were that Optimus Prime saw them worth enough to indulge in, staying on Earth to help defend their planet.

A streak of light caught Sam's eye, his face breaking into an excited grin and he stood and jabbed a finger to the sky. "Look!" he announced.

"Took his slagging time," Ratchet groused.

The protoform was a hell of a lot smaller than the protoform Sam and Mikaela witnessed the night Optimus landed. It was a mere fraction of the size. They watched eagerly as the alien-meteor came in on a wide angle, meaning to land to the right of their site, only to veer off course part way down.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's he doing?" Glen squeaked.

"I do not know. He's not answering hails," Optimus answered.

"He's heading straight for us!" Ironhide roared.

"Duck!" Bumblebee yelled, and everyone above 15 feet tall hit the dirt, causing minor earthquakes to shiver through the earth. The meteor whistled overhead, its white-hot outer shell causing the air to scream. Due to its small size, the actual impact was minor, the crater shallow- the alien actually ended up skimming along the topsoil, spraying everyone with a fine layer of dust and dirt. Ratchet was teh first to react as soon as the dust settled.

"**That was completely unnecessary, you crazed half-bit! You could have hit someone!"** he barked as he straightened, roughly sloughing off the debris that had layered on him.

Revving, electronic laughter rang out into the night from the shallow, steaming crater. The meteor, which turned out to be no bigger than a very large beach-ball, rolled over once to get right side up, and then a pair of legs unfolded, followed in quick order by a set of arms, torso arranging itself and straightening out while a head formed, a strange array of antennae jutting out from the top.

"**No harm done, Ratch'!"** the newcomer announced, giving his surroundings a wide sweep with both optics and sensors.

"**Blaster, you could have harmed a human," **Optimus chastised warningly.

The microbot waved off the concern. **"No way, Boss Bot, I had my course completely calculated. There was no way I was gonna hit a little organic," **he replied proudly, dusting his protoform off. He caught sight of Mirage and gave a jaunty wave. **"Thanks for the shortcut, Mirage. A little bumpy going through, but took **_**vorns**_** off the trip!" **

Mirage shook his head disbelievingly. **"You're welcome." **

"_**Blaster," **_Optimus insisted. **"You shouldn't have deviated. It was reckless." **

"**I was just aimin' ta make an entrance," **Blaster pouted.

"**You were aiming for **_**something**_**, alright," **Ironhide growled, running a hand over his crests which Blaster had passed mere feet over. Blaster simply grinned and laughed, revealing nothing.

During the whole exchange, the humans had crept in amongst the Autobots' feet, peering at the newcomer.

Glen was the first to say anything. "Dude, he's so…"

"Short?" Sam offered.

"Yeah."

As a matter of fact, the Autobot was absolutely _tiny _compared to his giant brethren. Even as his protoform disappeared and he shifted into his native Cybertronian form, he only gained a few inches, making him even with Epps, give or take a bit. Shining in the center of many bright spotlights, the Autobot was blatantly red, looking rather different from the Earth-configured Autobots in his Cybertronian configuration- instead of the angular, bulky armor the others carried due to their Earth alt modes, he was streamlined, the armor enclosed around the frame, almost like a sci-fi battle suit, but practically screamed _alien robot_.

Upon hearing their short exchange, Blaster perked up, an expression forming on his faceplate that the humans could only guess was a smile. **"Humans?" **he enquired cheerfully, scanning them quickly. He determined three males and two females, their heart rates slightly accelerated but beginning to calm.

"**Yes, several of our allies," **Optimus affirmed.

Blaster laughed and dusted himself off one more time. **"Might as well make a good impression." **He hopped over lightly, consulting his accumulated Earth files for appropriate greeting phrases and customs. He was on the North American continent, in the country of the United States of America, and the exchange he had heard had been in English; cross referencing the information with greetings and customs took only an astrosecond. By the time he'd hopped over to Maggie, he knew exactly what to do.

"Greetings, human female! I am Blaster!" he chimed happily, thrusting his hand out. "It is a pleasure to meet you!"

A ripple ran through the assembled humans, their faces instantly lighting up with barely contained laughter. _He sounded like a chipmunk!_

Before she knew what she was doing, Maggie let her hand fall into Blaster's offered one, his two sharp fingers and long thumb wrapping around her hand in a firm shake. "It's- uh, a pleasure to meet you, too, Blaster. I'm Maggie."

Epps offered his own hand, almost shaking with the urge to laugh. "Robert Epps."

Blaster nodded, releasing the female's hand and grasping the male's. Analyzing the vocal range of the two humans, he realized that his own vocal default settings were a little high to be within human parameters. Quickly moderating the setting on his vocal processor to resonate at in a lower range, when next he spoke, he had a warm, baritone male voice. "It is nice to meet you, Robert Epps!"

Surprised, but undaunted, they shook hands firmly, amiably.

Maybe there was something about having a human-sized Cybertronian around, or maybe it was just Blaster's personality, but suddenly everyone else was clamouring to shake the mech's hand, shake it again if need be. They dragged him over to their makeshift stake-out camp and sat him down on one of the lawn chairs, not that he seemed to mind the attention one bit. He was a lot heavier than a human, making the worn canvas chair bow and groan, but he wiggled about in it in good humour and made the most of the human hospitality.

Seeing as most of the conversation was going on at a human level, the rest of the Autobots conceded to take up seats on the ground, joining in on the conversation when appropriate- like when Blaster demanded to know what the pit he was supposed to call them all in English. The mech proved to be as every bit a mood lightener as Bumblebee recommended; he was lively, curious, unabashed, and seemed to enjoy every detail of Earth that the humans and Earth-bound Autobots gave him. He especially enjoyed the samples of music he was exposed to when Glen decided to add a little "something-something" to the welcome party by playing his pirated music for the group. After that, there was no stopping the mech.

Eventually, though, Mikaela found herself disengaging from the festivities, her face sore from smiling for so long. It was getting late and, after the day she just had, she wanted to get home to pass out on her bed. Her goodbyes to the amiable group barely passed muster as she staggered her way over to her Vespa. A hand on her arm paused her before she could mount.

"Is everything alright?" Sam's softly concerned voice emanated from behind her. "You've been acting odd all night."

Mikaela's hands tightened reflexively on the handlebars she gripped, resisting the urged to breakdown right then there. She'd done well all evening at keeping herself in check; it would all go to waste if she broke here. She was a Banes; she was too proud to break here.

"Everything's fine, Sam. I just had I really hard day and now I want to go home."

The hand on her arm drew away carefully. "Bumblebee could drive you home, you know. If you're tired, you shouldn't risk driving."

There he went again being too awkwardly sweet that she could hardly bare it. "Sam…"

"I know if we ask Ironhide nicely enough, he'll truck your Vespa home," he continued quickly, thinking she'd given him an opening. "And even if he doesn't want to, we can always suck up to Prime. Bumblebee really missed you today, you know? He doesn't get to see you that much and I think he was looking forward to driving you here." He paused a little bit, sounding a bit nervous. "I guess I was sort of looking forward to driving here with you, too. We haven't been able to hang out much lately and I miss you. I know things have been really rough at school, and that most of it is because you're going out with me, but I just want you to know that I really do care for you, and that I lo-."

"Don't, Sam." She had to cut it off. Draw the line. Her eyes were already stinging with tears threatening to fall. This was too much. She could take the crappy stuff- the bitchy ex-friends, the absentee dad, the altogether shitty life, but _this_… It was the one thing she couldn't handle. He was too fairy tale sweet for his own good, and Mikaela knew all too well that fairy tales weren't real.

Sam froze, mouth still open in mid-sentence.

Mikaela finally acquiesced to turn and face him, her face set with an expression that wavered between pain and tears. "Look, Sam, you've been wonderful. _More_ than wonderful. You're probably the nicest guy I've ever gone out with, but-," her eyes darted to their friends nearby, none of them displaying any interest in their private conversation, so she continued. "I just think we've gotten in way over our heads and we need some space right now. _I_ need space right now."

It took Sam a moment to remember out how to talk. "Are you saying you want to break up?" He sounded crestfallen but not surprised, which struck Mikaela where it hurt. He always expected her to break up with him.

"Yes- No… I-," she shook her head, almost scared to look up into Sam's face. "I just want a break, okay?"

A long, drawn out sigh stirred the air as Sam nodded, taking a step back. "Okay." His voice cracked a little when he spoke. His chest felt like it was being held in a vice grip. Even his throat felt hot and tight. He didn't fight for her, though. He didn't delude himself into thinking he could change her mind. He was just Sam Witwicky: average kid after all, and she was _Mikaela Banes: _beyond awesome.

Mikaela nodded, turning to mount her Vespa and start it up. Now it was awkward and painful between them instead of the normally just awkward. "Okay, well- um, see you at school, I guess."

"Yeah, see ya."

Blaster trotted over to Sam's side and watched as Mikaela disappeared. "Was it something I said?"

"No. She just needs a break."

* * *

The part of Mikaela that had made her too proud to break down in the middle of the desert in front of her ex-boyfriend also made her too proud to break down in front of her aunt when she rolled in the yard later that night. While her vision blurred and her lip quivered, she kept her back rigid and marched to the house, not expecting a hello from the woman in the shed, nor did she volunteer a hello back. She made a beeline for her room, directly to her bed, before she finally let the first sob of many escape her.

The streetlamp outside her window cast an orangey glow in her room, allowing her to see that Chase had placed the crumpled letter from her father on her nightstand, causing a painful, choking sob to wretch from her.

God, her life sucked.

The only thing she found she could do was curl up on her bed, hugging her pillow to her as if it could offer some form of comfort as she cried. It wasn't just a cry over Sam, or even over her dad- she was crying over a lot of things, all of it finally bubbling over the top because every damn barricade she had against them had gone under in the flood. She found herself crying over stupid things, like the shallow names she knew the girls at school were calling her; she cried over the fact that her family was a bunch of people who shared DNA and nothing more; over the fact that she was caught up in a war and facing death every single day and could tell _nobody_ about it.

She cried over how utterly _stupid_ she was, getting rid of one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

Worst of all, she was crying _because_ she was crying. Screw everyone who ever said you had to be strong to cry; she felt weak and exposed and pathetic, curled up on her bed like some child.

She never even noticed she had company until a sigh drifted from her doorway, followed by a softly rasping, "Oh, Mikaela."

"Go away!" she demanded, unwilling to share her pity party with anyone, much less her aunt.

Chase rolled her eyes, ignoring the order. Instead, she slipped in and made her way to the bed.

"_Go away!" _Mikaela shrieked, jerking away from the hand that brushed her shoulder.

Still ignoring her niece, Chase sunk down on the wrinkled quilt, bringing with her the familiar and strangely comforting smell of washing detergent, newly consumed alcohol, and sweat mingling with motor oil. "About earlier-."

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"Right, okay." Uncomfortable silence stretched out between them as Mikaela continued to cry and Chase refused to leave. Before someone ended up killing the other, Chase asked, "So… who dumped who?"

A bitter choking noise erupted from Mikaela's throat. "I dumped him," she bit out, almost angrily.

Thank God Chase had sense enough not to reply. Her head just bobbed, taking a swig from whatever she was drinking that night. Somehow, Mikaela managed to gravitate toward her aunt, ending up hugging the older woman around her waist, nearly curled into her lap. Chase ended up doing something she was not accustomed to doing- honestly comfort someone. Her hand came down to clumsily stroke her niece's dark cascade of hair.

"I- I really, _really_ liked him," Mikaela whispered once her sobs had subsided.

"I know," Chase answered, sounding subdued. "He was the one guy you bothered to defend when I ripped into him."

A ragged sob slipped out. "He was so good to me."

"That's why it hurts. Why'd you do it?"

"I couldn't take it anymore. There's too much going on with Dad and school, and I think I just need space right now. I can't handle a boyfriend right now." Much less one as sweet as Sam. She didn't want to drag him down too- he had enough to deal with on his own.

"Mickey, Mickey, Mickey," Chase sighed, offering a hug which Mikaela welcomed. More than anything at that moment, Chase wished she'd been wrong about that stupid prediction she'd made that Mikaela's relationship with the pansy wouldn't last the month. Normally tears annoyed her beyond reason, but seeing her usually strong and confident niece reduced to a curled up little girl on her lap, it bothered her in a different way. It made her heart ache.

"I'm so stupid," Mikaela cursed, pillowing her head to Chase's stomach.

There was no move to contradict the statement. "You're a Banes, sweetheart. Comes with the territory."

"Being a Banes sucks."

"You have _no_ idea," came the rueful reply.

Mikaela nodded, rolling off her aunt and looking at her as if realizing she was there for the first time. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard you crying," she replied nonchalantly. Actually, Hound heard her crying- not that she was going to tell Mikaela that.

"Oh." She wiped her eyes harshly, swiping a hand under her nose, finally clear-headed enough to want to appear half-decent. "You- you can go now," Mikaela offered, flopping back down on her tear-stained quilt. "I have school in the morning."

Seeing as her moral obligations as emotional support were finished, Chase rose from the bed and collected her bottle of Mike's Hard Lemonade. It was a fresh bottle, only a few mouthfuls taken from it.

Fully expecting the older woman to leave, it surprised Mikaela when a hand laid itself on her forehead.

"You're feeling a little warm, Mickey," Chase informed.

Mikaela pushed the hand away. "I feel fine."

"You sure?" There was a certain light in the older woman's eyes that caught Mikaela's attention.

"Just go away, Chase. I have no idea what you're getting at." She suddenly found the Mike's bottle thrust into her hands.

"I'm thinking you don't look so well, kid. Maybe you shouldn't go to school tomorrow."

"_Chase-."_

Her aunt raised her hands in defence. "I'm just saying, everybody deserves a sick day one in a while. You really look like you could use one."

Contemplating the glass bottle clutched between her hands, Mikaela nodded, murmuring a, "Thanks, Chase," before downing half the bottle. Whether she was thanking her for the sick day she desperately needed or for the alcohol that was now numbing her tired body, neither of them could be sure.

Chase shrugged. "No problem."


	15. Mysteries Arise

Yet one more chapter to add to the ever-growing collection! I'm so happy to get this one out! It's more of a celebration than anything, in honour of surpassing _What Time We Have Left _in reviews! I am beyond words with gratitude to all of you, my readers/reviewers, for all the kindness and consideration you've put into your reviews. You are, by far, the best bunch of people that any writer could ask for.

My thanks belongs to the wonderfully amazing people who reviewed the last chapter; while words fail me to adequately convey exactly how grateful I am for the love and reviews I have been showered with, I hope that my meagre thanks is enough. I am truly humbled by you all. Thank you so much to **Elita One, Birdman45, Flameshield, Bunnylass, Caz, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, lady tecuma, Jason M. Lee, Daebereth, Freakish Child, Chloo**, and **Lecidre**. All of you are too wonderful!

Special thanks to **Violetlight**, who once again suffered through editing the first half of this chapter- I will always be grateful for your invaluable help! As well, I want to give a special shout out to **Freakish Child,** who has certainly out done herself this time by way of reviews- your interpretations of the chapter are always interesting to read, whether they be way off speculations or spot on deductions. My last special mentions go to **Lecidre**, to whom I feel both humbled and awed by; not only did she review an astonishing amount of chapters for _As We Come Together_ in successive order, but she also has fanart planned for the future involving the WE continuality!

Now that that's all out of the way, please- enjoy chapter 15!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which More Mysteries Arise**

"I see you were finally able to coax the _Darksyde_ down," Optimus commented civilly as he peered around at the larger bridge behind Soundwave on the view screen.

"_Yes. Nightshade was rather_… difficult _to convince to land, but she eventually deigned it appropriate,"_ Soundwave replied, employing the same form of thin civility. _"She is harbouring a grudge for several slights this crew, myself and Flamewar especially, have apparently made against her, including leaving her stranded on the _Darksyde_ in orbit for so long." _The mech's smouldering visor glinted darkly as he stared back at Prime_. "Her emotions are on aspect of her personality I have had much trouble training out of her. Even with her apprenticeship long behind her, she is still weak to her emotional centre."_

Optimus cocked his head to the side, a small smile ghosting his mouthplates. "Emotions are not necessarily a downfall."

"_Perhaps that is what you have been taught," _the Neutral Commander conceded, but said no more on the subject, leaving Prime to sum up his charisma in order to steer the conversation.

"Were there any difficulties landing the ship?" he enquired, infusing interest into his voice. "To my knowledge, the area of the Canadian east coast you have chosen to reside in is sparely populated, but I am curious to hear if the local flora- _pine trees_, I believe is the dominant species, have given you any landing trouble. They grow quite large."

"_There were no immediate problems presented, other than a few technical glitches presented from damages rendered by the_ Uller," Soundwave said without sounding accusing of the Autobots guilty of the damages. _"Nightshade was sufficient enough to pilot the ship down without any major incidences. The overcast weather of this region proves immensely favourable for our continued presence in the area, as is the simplicity of the native species here. While contact has been foregone for our own benefit, both Flamewar and Barricade's alt modes have been spotted over the local transportation routes- their presences have now been attributed to the local folklore that plays prominently here." _

"As long as they remain uncaught by any of the local law enforcement_,"_ Optimus warned.

"_They are more than capable of evading the humans," _Soundwave assured. _"They have even taken to perpetuating the lore about them at my request, using dampening fields to disrupt any earth technologies that could possibly record them." _

"Superstition amongst this species can be particular strong; if they were to think we were merely "ghost cars'…" Optimus chuckled amusedly. "I can see how that would be useful."

"_It is, since they insist on traversing great distances to bond with each other without causing immense damages to the immediate area, greatly exposing them to being sighted by the humans. At least this new development reduces attention drawn to our base of operations here." _

"Howconsiderate of them," Optimus replied. Stamping down on his urge to crack an inappropriate smile, Optimus shifted subjects again, to the last major member of the small Neutral group. "What of Virus's status among you? From what I gathered in Ironhide's reports…"

"_Her status is unchanged,"_ Soundwave informed flatly. _"She is ignoring virtually all external stimulation; Trojan and Worm have removed her from the cliff face and placed her in isolation her quarters where she refuses to acknowledge the presence of anyone. I have no inclination to believe she will survive her current condition; her comatose state will undoubtedly lead to the extinguishment of her spark."_

Optimus tried valiantly to keep the incredulity off his faceplate. He could understand the mourning, perhaps even relate to Virus, seeing as Megatron was his own brother, but to carry on into a condition as severe as hers? "Isn't that a bit excessive? I know of her obsession with Megatron, but…"

"_Megatron was not only an obsession with her," _he explained darkly, relying on information he had gathered on and from the creature over the vorns. _"He was a compulsion she was at the mercy of to obey."_

Interest morbidly piqued, Optimus cocked his head slightly. "How so?"

"_Virus's previous incarnation was an assistant medic in Kaon's underground death matches, her Creator was a mech known as Bludgeon-." _Seeing the look of surprise and recognition cross the Prime's faceplate, Soundwave nodded coldly. _"Yes, __**that**__ Bludgeon. I am sure that if you were to look into your directory of requested sparks for pre-programs, you will find his approved application." _

"I was always puzzled as to how a mech like Bludgeon could ever be approved for a spark," Optimus said grimly. "Even back then, he was a cruel mech; his disregard for sentient life, or life in general, was appalling."

"_It is only speculation, but I would imagine Megatron would have had a hand in pushing forward such a request," _Soundwave reasoned. _"From information that I have gathered on the subject, Megatron was a patron of the death matches and had a rapport with Bludgeon, who served as Head Medic there, as well as a scientist to his own ends. To extrapolate from that information, it could be assumed that Megatron helped push through Bludgeon's application, and in return, Bludgeon equipped the pre-program he'd built with loyalty programs towards the Lord High Protector." _

Ironhide's harsh snort sliced the air. "Virus is a fragged up piece of scrap, with or without that twisted program in her head."

Optimus nodded, though he was notably less firm than Ironhide when he spoke. "It is true that a number of the crimes she has committed can be attributed to her without the influence of such a program, but in light of this new information, she may, in fact, be a victim of circumstances beyond her control. I find that a re-evaluation of her character may be in order."

"I'm sure that a '_re-evaluation of her character_' will come as a great comfort to all of the victims who have suffered at her hands," the weapons specialist growled disgustedly. Obviously, he favoured the death sentence over an appeal.

Choosing to ignore the mech's comments, knowing Ironhide had suffered much at Virus's cruel hand, Optimus instead turned his attentions back to Soundwave. "Does she pose a danger to the native populations?"

The Neutral Commander shook his head. _"No. Only to herself now."_

Optimus sighed, leaning against the console. He glanced back at Ironhide, who rumbled darkly, obviously ruminating over the quadruped's existence- or the end of it, as it may be. Hoping not to incense the black-armored mech further by asking the question, Optimus peered back at Soundwave. "Is there anything that can be done to help her?"

No matter how many atrocities the damn creature had committed, Optimus, in all his hope for all living beings, held out an insane hope that if she could be helped she could possibly be an asset.

"_Affirmative: deletion of her Megatron loyalty programming."_

"Ah, but that in itself is a problem," the Prime sighed.

"_Indeed. She would never consent to the program's deletion." _

"You're a Decepticon- rip it out of her," Ironhide rumbled darkly, glaring smoulderingly at the view screen. "I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time you've done something like that."

Soundwave stayed motionless for a long time, but it was hard to tell if he was glaring or not- he probably was. _"Your assumption is correct, I have preformed the forced extraction of information from unwilling participants before,"_ he finally replied, a dark rigidity encasing each word like a palpable threat. _"However, actions such as those are no longer accepted within the new faction that I claim, therefore the option is not open to me or any of my sect. However, if you are so inclined on the removal of the programming, I am sure your Chief Medical Officer could be more than accommodating. To my knowledge, he has done his own fair share of extractions himself." _

Ironhide's optics flashed wide, his bull-like olfactory casing flaring. Sure, Ratchet was _Ratchet_, and he had preformed extraction procedures in the past, but it had always been under extreme derision and self-loathing from the medic. What Soundwave was suggesting… It was enough for Ironhide to forget any ire he held against Ratchet, choosing to come to his defence instead. "How dare you-!"

"_Ironhide,"_ Optimus intervened warningly.

"Ratchet would never stoop as low as a Decepticon-!"

"Ironhide, stand down or leave the room," Optimus ordered firmly, cutting his friend off before something worse could be said to strain the relations between their two factions.

The black-armoured mech looked beyond fuming to be chastised in front of his enemy. "Optimus-!"

"I will not have you disrupting this meeting like an arrant youngling," Optimus reprimanded sharply. "You were inviting a fight. Soundwave was only giving you the response you wanted." When Ironhide still remained tense, Optimus straightened to his full height and towered over his old friend. "Leave, Ironhide."

The directness of the order made the old mech falter, but he regrouped quickly, snorting and leaving the room without further disruption, other than flicking Blaster harshly when the little mech hissed quietly in his audio from the balcony- _"Oh, you got __**owned**__!" _Luckily, microbots were made tough, so the little Commutations Officer simply rebounded off the wall.

"My apologies-," Optimus began, turning back to the Neutral Commander.

"_There's no need. He is free to his own opinions,"_ Soundwave interjected quickly.

The Autobot Commander sighed, scrubbing his faceplate with his hand. "Yes, he is- unfortunately. Ever since his return from Canada, he has been increasingly defensive and irritable. I believe it is from his failure to find our missing comrade and his denied opportunity to kill one of yours. It makes living with him difficult."

"_With preoccupations such as his, one should really question his intentions as an Autobot,"_ Soundwave commented, almost in an offhand manner, though the effect of it was diminished by the monotony of his voice.

"I have never found the need to question Ironhide's loyalty," Optimus confided ruefully. Ironhide's loyalty to the Autobots was based on a friendship with Optimus Prime himself, a friendship that had seen the rise and fall of many stars and the coming and going of many lives; Ironhide was nothing if not loyal to the end.

"_This banter is carrying on in excess, Prime," _Soundwave pointed out. His red gaze was unrelenting as he continued to stare down the Autobot leader. _"As we are both aware that this is not a social call, do you care to inform me as to the real reason for contacting me?" _

Optimus offered a small bow of his head. "Of course, I wouldn't presume to be so rude. This is in regards to the aid you lent us in the aftermath of the bonding incident in Tranquility. It appears that some footage has been leaked to the World Wide Web."

"_I see…" _There was a brief pause as Soundwave silently summoned one of his lurking symbiotes, as well as scanned the entirety of the internet for said footage that Glen had yet to delete. A frown creased his faceplates. _"This could prove problematic."_

Before Optimus could reply, a streak of quicksilver came speeding into view, followed shortly after by a gliding avian bot landing delicately on Soundwave's shoulder. The moment they were there, the problem at hand was transferred to them via private channel. They tensed and hissed as they accessed the information, realizing what it was.

"_Explain." _Soundwave ordered, Optimus watching silently from his end.

Laserbeak, who had been the symbiote summoned to answer for this grievous slip in security, shook her delicate, pointed head in obvious irritation. _"Humans approached us while we were searching the dwellings- they ordered for us to hand over some of the confiscated material before we erased it." _

Frenzy clacked around on the console near Soundwave's gargantuan hand, appearing more fragged off than Laserbeak. He had only answered to Soundwave's summons out of curiosity, but now he felt down right insulted. _"Thththopse lie-lie-lying puny huhuhumans!" _he hissed furiously. _"Th-they ttttook assss muchmuchmuch assss they could!_

Optimus leaned closer to the screen, peering down at Frenzy's spasmodic form. "I find it very hard to believe that you would cooperate with the humans so easily," he said.

Frenzy glared. _"Theytheythey producccced official docdocdocuments ssssaying youyouyou requested footage- or, at-at-at least whwhwhat wewewe thought were official docdocdocuments. Lying ssssscum!" _

"_We were under orders at the time to cooperate with the humans in a minimum capacity," _Laserbeak informed, her talon tightening against Soundwave's massive shoulder, scratching the midnight paint. _"We couldn't argue without inciting a fight, which would have undermined our presence there." _

"_And you did not think to inform me of this incidence?"_ Soundwave questioned.

"_As we were under the impression that we were still following your orders in complying with the humans and Prime's supposed request, we allowed the humans to take the footage without resistance,"_ Laserbeak replied. She was rigid, furious for being tricked.

"That seems to imply that there is something more elaborate at work here than just a slip in security and some adolescent humans posting "alien hype" media," Optimus reasoned, not liking where the assumption was going.

"_It would appear that there are humans amongst you on your base who are trying to undermine our efforts to conceal our presence on this planet,"_ Soundwave intoned.

"An unsettling thought," Optimus conceded. "I had hoped the answer to this little slip up would be as simple as a mix up, but it seems we have only turned up new questions instead of answers."

"_You would do well to find the perpetrators of this act as soon as possible, preferably eradicating them, before this carries beyond a few nondescript images, jeopardizing our existence on this planet."_

"I assure you, I will take the necessary steps needed in order to prevent this from happening again," Optimus stated firmly.

Blaster, vaguely interested in this new mystery, suddenly perked up as he caught movement out of the corner of his optic. Something small flitted out of the main level of the room; a human. Curiosity piqued, the microbot followed, just as an enraged roar rattled through the speakers, echoing from outside the _Darksyde_'s bridge where Soundwave stood.

"_You depraved little half-bit glitch! When I get my hands on you, I'm going to tear you apart and string your innards from the fragging hull!" _

Optimus's optic ridges rose almost all the way off his faceplate as the bridge's door slammed open and two blurred forms fell in, followed by a crowd of others. A vicious snarl curled the air, shivering coldly over the Autobot Commander's armor. Flamewar's heaving frame became apparent in the background of the bridge, practically shaking with uncontrolled fury as she glared down at the smaller femme she was facing off with.

"_**You-**__! How dare you go into my quarters- destroy everything! You spoiled, impudent, wretched little creature!"_ the ex-Femme Commander spat, lashing at Nightshade's faceplate as she leapt forward.

Nightshade dodged, rapier drawn. "_Like you wouldn't have done the same thing,"_ she hissed.

"_You destroyed everything of mine_!" Flamewar roared. _"All I had was in that room!" _Waspinator, still under contract with her, buzzed fretfully in the air. Snarling, the femme grabbed the annoying scrap of metal, shredding the contract between them before crushing the section of abdominal plating she held captive. Bracing against the wave of nausea that hit from the destroyed contract, she threw the remains of the still twitching symbiote to its original master.

Nightshade's shriek rang off the walls as Waspinator rebounded off her chassis, one of his wings flying off from the force of the impact. _"You fragger!"_

"_A small taste of what you did to me!" _

Whipping her rapier aside, Nightshade barged forward, intent on ripping the spark from the chest of the other femme with her bare hands. It had been several hundred vorns since that orn at Kaon when Flamewar had come to destroy the base and Nightshade had been foolish enough to engage her; this time, Nightshade would not be the one at the mercy of the other. She was going to kill Flamewar this time.

Optimus watched in horrified fascination. "Should you not intervene?" he asked incredulously.

"_They are sufficient enough to fight their own battles,"_ Soundwave replied evenly.

"I meant, should you not _stop _them?"

"_Perhaps."_ But he did not. He simply watched, leaving the channel open to allow Optimus to watch in disturbed silence.

Just as the femmes were about to clash, hands and claws from a myriad of bots rushed in, grasping a respective femme and dragging her away to separate sides of the bridge. The femmes hissed and spat furiously, clawing at the air, struggling for all they were worth to be released, to attack the other with animal-like ferocity.

"_Hey! Hey, Nightshade! Calm down! Don't be stupid!"_ Rumble shouted, his arms clenching tightly around her middle, his own joints groaning with the force it took to hold back his master's apprentice. _"You'll get yourself killed if you fight her! She's fragging crazy!" _

"_I can take her!"_ Nightshade screamed, elbowing Rumble in the head hard enough for him to see black spots. _"She crushed Waspinator! Let me go!"_

Ravage growled angrily around the mouthful of armor he held tight in his maw, digging his claws into the floor for leverage to drag Nightshade back. _"Think about this, you impudent femme!" _

"_I mean it! Release me!"_ The femme shrieked, scratching and punching at them. _"I can take her!"_

"_Bring it, you little scrap heap!"_ Flamewar challenged, writhing against her mate's unrelenting hold. _"I'll rip your pulsing spark from your chest!" _The needles of her armor dug deep into Barricade's frame, passed armor into sensitive neural circuits, and yet he did not release her. The pain she was inflicting on him burned tenfold in her spark, fuelling her rage.

"_Calm down!"_ the mech ordered viciously, snapping in her faceplate.

Flamewar spat back, resisting him as he bodily pressed her into the wall, restraining her in a cage made from his living frame. _"You saw what she did! Everything's gone! I'll have her head for it!" _

Barricade pressed to her closer, harder, growling deeply. _"Those were just material things; they can be replaced. You need to calm down, femme."_ His spark swelled out to hers, grasping it in a too tight hold that was meant to subdue by force. Unfortunately, the attempt had the opposite affect on Flamewar! He may have been her mate, but she still had her pride, which was unwilling to bend to even him.

"_Get the frag off me!"_

Optimus's gaze moved back and forth between the disaster waiting to happen and the Neutral Commander watching it nonchalantly. "I really think you should do something to intervene, Soundwave, before someone gets hurt."

The midnight-painted mech sighed in annoyance. Optimus obviously had no idea how Decepticons dealt with their problems. His gaze drifted to Laserbeak on his shoulder, appearing anxious of the impending fight, and then he looked to Frenzy, crouched and ready to spring to Nightshade's defence. A Decepticon's way of handling things; fight until you or your opponent couldn't fight anymore.

Too bad they were claiming Neutrality now.

The towering mech finally pushed himself away from the monitor, interceding himself between the two femmes. His immense presence was enough to give the two femmes pause, thinking he was going to act as a Decepticon and end their squabble by damaging them enough to prevent them from fighting. Instead, his large hands captured their frames and held them fast above the ground, their feet kicking uselessly.

"_Enough."_ He ordered, growled.

"_This isn't your fight, Soundwave! Stay out of this!"_ Flamewar roared, her sharp fingers biting into the armor of his palm.

"_Negative: this is my concern,"_ he informed her flatly. _"We are Neutrals now- the Decepticon ways are null here. There will be no fighting in this context."_ The pressure of his hands increased, threatening to buckle the frames of the femmes.

Barricade bristled as he watched his mate be squeeze like an Earth stress-ball, feeling the ghosts of the pressure impressing upon his spark. Were it not for the fact that Soundwave was several times his own mass and outgunned him pretty heavily, he would have attacked, but if the slagger kept up the squeeze-toy act, all bets were off.

But it was not Barricade who acted on impulse first, nor was it Flamewar as she continued to claw her way out of Soundwave's vice-like grip. Nightshade gave an incensed shriek, her body suddenly contorting as she forced herself to transform into her Cybertronian jet alt mode.

So as to not damage her as she twisted and reassembled, Soundwave released his hold on his apprentice. She dropped quickly as her transformation completed, catching herself before she crashed against the rusted floor. Thrusters spat burning plasma as she jetted upwards to be level with her mentor, quivering lightly. Even in this form, her anger was palpable.

"_First you take Flamewar's side, then you order us to hide amongst this organic slag like vagabonds, and now you want us all to scratch our decals off and be __**Neutral?!"**_ She'd been incensed when her mentor had first informed her of the development, but at this particular moment, she was beyond words to articulate her exact fury, the depth of her Master's betrayal. _"I completely and utterly refuse! That's just one step closer to becoming a fragging Autobot!"_ And with that, she spun sharply and exited the bridge.

Soundwave stared after her for a long while, his expression indecipherable. His symbiotes, feeling their master's pain, gathered at his feet to offer comfort. Frenzy, while still free from contract, scrambled up his Creator's frame and perched on the mech's broad shoulder, opposite of Laserbeak, laying a spindly hand against the mech's faceplate. _"Sssshe isssss young,"_ he said by way of comforting him.

"_She's a witless idiot with no comprehension of self-preservation,"_ Flamewar snapped viciously as she writhed within Soundwave's hand.

Barricade made a noise of impatience, clearly wanting his mate returned to him, which Soundwave acquiesced to without really registering. He had to shake his hand a little bit to dislodge the femme from his palm, though- her sharp armor had become lodged into his joints. The Saleen gathered the glowering femme carefully, as if she were a particularly ornery porcupine, and trooped her out in order to help her relieve her frustrations in another way.

_"We tried to prevent this from happening, but Nightshade was rather unreasonable at the time, and Flamewar was simply... herself,"_ Ravage offered in a soft growl, but his words were of little comfort.

Finally remembering that the Prime had been left as a peeping Tom into this testament to the new Neutrals' rocky path ahead of them, Soundwave made his way back to the communications station, his Creations pressed close to his frame. _"Seeing as we have our own plethora of problems to deal with, Prime, I suggest we terminate this conversation for the time being." _

Optimus hesitated before nodding. He was on the verge of offering something- Advice? Help?- but forcefully reminded himself that these were newly claimed Neutrals and it would be sometime yet before they would ever be on easy terms with each other. Instead, he bowed his head solemnly, since to occasion seemed to call for a gesture like that.

"Of course. I hope we find solutions to each of our problems soon."

_"As do I." _

Both commanders closed the channel thinking they might have had more in common with the other than what they would have cared to admit.

* * *

The human section of the base was certainly shaping up from its barren beginnings. The rec room and barracks were finally fully equipped and furnished; several of the offices set up and now in usage. But, what could probably be considered the _pièce de résistance _of the entire set up was probably the kitchens and dinning area.

Located beyond the easily accessible recreation area, at the other end of the long range of halls housing the barracks, it was almost like an after-thought on the Autobots' behalf, as if they had suddenly remembered that their human allies needed to refuel a little more frequently than they did, and that their source of fuels was all together different from theirs, so they threw this extra bit on in the end.

That was not to say that they did a shoddy job on it, not in the least.

It was quite adequate to serve the humans' needs; a large communal kitchen whose walk in fridges and freezers must have held records somewhere, equipped with the best state-of-the-art cook wear and appliances the US government could afford, complete with an open dining area lined with long rows of tables, and a "break room" made out of the balcony that wrapped around the entire space. It was a crowning glory to the overly alien base- something that was Earthy and felt like home when surrounded by cold metal and alien robots.

Maggie and Epps, at the moment, were reaping the benefits of the break room, settled across from each other in cool leather chairs arranged on either side of a low, glossy wooden table. This was their favourite area of the human sector, where metal gave way to organic wood, windows let in natural light, and the arcing skylight built over the entire area reminded them that they were still on Earth and not deep within the bowels of a metal monster. They liked the break room most of all because of its hominess; a coffeehouse-like imitation complete with wafting aromas of rich brews and deep leather seats that beckoned to be sunk into.

"So…?" Maggie prompted, obviously giving Epps an opening to explain why he had asked her here.

"So…" His deep voice was earthy and steady, washing over her with an awareness that made her tingle.

They, as with many of their fellow humans, had already shared their laugh over the existence of a human-friendly balcony in the only human-exclusive area of the base, so now they simply sat across from each other, smiling vaguely into their respective coffees. Neither of them could figure out quite what to say.

Epps shifted forward, an almost restless move. "Look, I hate beating around the bush."

Maggie, in response to Epps leaning forward, set her coffee cup down and crossed her legs at the knee, watching him benignly. "Really? Sometimes I think that's half the fun," she teased.

A strong hand scrubbed across his face, and then up and over the crown of his head. "There's something between us, isn't there?"

The smile that delighted her glossy lips was coy, deliciously tempting. "Maybe."

Her teasing only seemed to aggravate Epps more. "Look, we've been dancing around each other for a month and it's driving me crazy. Something happened between us up North; I like you and you like me."

"You're assuming a little much, don't you think?" Maggie asked, reaching out to take a nonchalant sip of her mocha frappuccino. The move caused her skirt to ride a little higher on her thighs; there was nothing unintentional about the look she gave him.

"I'm not assuming anything. I know I'm right." He knew it right down to his bones. "Question is; what do you want to do about it?"

"What do _you_ want to do about it?"

Epps didn't trust himself to answer with words, his eyes conveying everything he wanted to do- with her, _to her_, and more. The feeling left Maggie hot and unsettled inside, shifting discreetly in her chair as the temperature of the room seemed to rise by several degrees.

A soft, breathless laugh drifted past her lips. "Right, well…" she searched for words that hadn't been stolen by the achingly handsome man's smoldering stare. "I vote for getting to know each other a little better."

"Does that include dinner, say… tomorrow night?" Epps asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"That depends, are you cooking?" Maggie asked in return, all the more willing to play a little longer.

"I was thinking more along the lines of candlelit dinner, restaurant style."

"Too bad, I like a good home-cooked meal."

Epps' laugh was deep, reverberating in his chest. "Fine, I'll cook, but it's your funeral."

"I'll die happy, then," Maggie replied with a delicate shrug.

They settled into a contented silence as they watched each other carefully, letting the muted din of the other humans drift over them; the chink and chime of pots and pans moving in the kitchens, the hiss of oil in a frying pan, the slosh of water in the sink, bubbling of coffee, a constant ebb and flow of distant, murmured conversation. It was mutually decided that they liked this witty tug-of-war between them. There was an inexplicable draw that had them coming back for more.

Epps nodded to himself, finishing off his coffee as if it were a form of liquid courage. "So, Mags, in the spirit of getting to know each other better, mind telling me what brings you here? To the base, I mean. You're no military girl, and I know for a fact that you weren't involved at Mission City."

So now they were going through the motions of the awkward human ritual of getting to know each other better- something the Cybertronians took great amusement in. While the aliens could simply interface with one another and know everything there was to know without the awkwardness of speech, humans had to duke it out in the dangerous world of conversation. To be honest, Epps was a little envious of their robotic counterparts- not only did he find the getting-to-know-you part awkward, he wouldn't have minded interfacing with Maggie right then and there in the least.

"I don't know what to tell you, Bobby," she replied, his name slipping over her tongue in a delicate dance. That enchanting Australian accent of her made her seem all the more exotic, alluring. "I may not have been at Mission City, but that doesn't mean I didn't see my fair share of action."

"If you could call the little guy 'action,'" Epps joked. He could hardly compare Frenzy to the likes of Blackout or Bonecrusher.

"Well, I do," Maggie countered evenly, leveling her gaze with him. "After all, it's not the size that counts."

Much unlike the tech sergeant, Maggie liked getting to know another person through speech and interaction rather than interfacing, Cybertronian style or otherwise. The game of touch and go, ducking and looping was _fun_; how two people could weave about each other in the same space for so long before one finally broke down and asked the other to have a coffee up on the balcony with him was all part of the enjoyment for her. She was enjoying her time with Robert Epps.

"But what landed you _here,_ exactly?" Epps insisted, watching her with interest.

"It was Secretary Keller's idea, I suppose," the data analyst shrugged, her lips pursing lightly. "He wanted me to serve as a liaison between the government and the Autobots, just like you are Will are like mediators for the military, and I have no doubt Sam is being groomed for ambassadorial duties as well. While everyone else has been getting their paycheck's worth of work, I've been twiddling my thumbs in my office; the UN is mostly doing my job right now, sorting out the Autobots' situation with the rest of the world's governments. The most I've done is start a translation program between Cybertronian and English, and I don't even have a template for it yet."

"I feel your frustration," Epps said, half-sympathizing.

"I'm sure you do," Maggie replied wryly.

There was a commotion at the entrance of the dining area, a distinct increase in the volume of murmured conversation that caught the two's attention. In unison, they turned their heads and instantly saw what had garnered the extra interest. Standing alone in the spacious, airy entrance to the hall was a single robotic form, human-sized, blaringly red under the warm sunlight filtering in. The contrast between Blaster's presence to the utter humanness of the kitchens and dining hall was shocking: singled out in the doorway, surrounded by curious, staring humans, Blaster looked more alien than any Autobot normally did. He was the _first_ Autobot to ever set foot in the human-claimed kitchens after their completion, seeing as he was the only one small enough to get into the area.

His bright optics roved over the crowd looking for something, valiantly ignoring the stares as he was faced with his own alien-ness while surrounded by Earth's native dominant species.

"Think he's lost?" Epps asked in a quiet tone.

"I don't know, but let's call him over. Poor thing's singled out over there." She didn't wait to see if the tech sergeant would agree or not, lifting her arm to wave in Blaster's direction. The Autobot's optics caught the movement instantly, zeroing in on the female's face and recognizing her even with the distance between them. He returned her wave and offered his robotic version of a smile, beginning to trot over to the stairs that would take him up to the balcony. They could hear him coming easily- the metal weight-distributors that served as his feet clacked a lot more loudly against the floor than the rubber soles of human shoes. Coming abreast of the second floor, the cheery Autobot scanned for them once more before making his way over.

"Interesting place you have here," Blaster commented, optics still roving the architecture of the room, the humans filling it. He stepped around them to the wooden railing around the balcony, laying a hand against the grain- fascinated by the use of wood for construction purposes. "I did not know you had your own sector on base- it is not listed in the schematics I downloaded."

"We sort of took over the place," Epps replied, shrugging unconcernedly. "Glad you like it."

Blaster revved a laugh, turning to the two familiar faces he knew. "Your culture is so diverse and fascinating. Bumblebee has been eager in sharing his accumulated knowledge with me, as well, I have taken great enjoyment in exploring your World Wide Web," he said, now squatting to peer into their coffee cups at the dregs that swilled there. "There is hardly anything not to like." As an afterthought, he added, "I am especially growing fond of your music."

Maggie giggled as she watched the alien poke about, his long-fingered hands tracing over the table, up the side of the chairs, dipping into their coffees when he received a nod to say it was okay. "You're in the wrong place if you were looking for human music, Blaster," she pointed out kindly. "We eat here," she paused to think of a robotic term he might understand if "eating" didn't compute, "like refueling- organic style."

"I see." This seemed to invigorate Blaster's initial interest further, but he was reminded of his actual reasons for wandering into the humans-only section of the base. He was looking for a particular human- the one he had caught eavesdropping on the command center. "I am not here for either, actually," he said, straightening and heading back to the balcony ledge. "I was curious of something." His optics darted quickly around the sea of faces below before finding the right one. "That human over there- what is his designation?" A single finger pointed downwards, towards the farthest corner of the dining hall.

Both Epps and Maggie had to rise from their seats to see who Blaster was pointing to. While it took Maggie a few moments to follow Blaster's pointed finger to its target, Epps homed in on the intended with sharp, intense eyes. His gaze narrowed automatically into a glare.

"That's agent Reginald Simmons."


	16. Many Forms

Alright, so here is yet another chapter. I'm sorry that one is a little more human focused than what you all are probably wanting, but I want a well rounded story where all the characters are fleshed out. Unfortunately, that means the giant alien robots have to sacrifice a little face time. I swear, the next chapter will get back to the bots' story arcs! I promise I'm not starting to stray- I'm just telling the story as it's developing from all angles.

I want to send out a huge thank you to all the most wonderful readers who reviewed for the last chapter! I know the school year has started, so it's difficult to find the time to leave a review, so the ones you send are treasured most dearly! I want to sincerely thank **Bluebird Soaring, Elita One, Caz, Daebereth, Jason M. Lee, Lecidre, Bunnylass, Flameshield, theshadowcat, Freakish Child, Chloo**, and **Litahatchee**! I want you all to know that you are the most wonderful people out there! I'm so honored that you would review me!

Special mentions go to **Litahatchee** and **Violetlight** for their editing skills, and just for reading this thing in general and offering feedback. You two are too wonderful! Also, shout out to **Freakish Child**, who, yet again, left two reviews! Methinks this is becoming a habit! xD And, an extra special YOU'RE AWESOME!! goes out to **Lecidre**, who did the most magnificent piece of fanart for WE that I have ever seen. It's in my favorites on DevART, and the link is in my bio, so if anyone wants to see the most beautiful pic in the world, just mosey on by and check it out!

_The song Bret is playing… "_Mr Lonely" lyrics by Akon, the most pathetic song I have ever heard… Thank god I don't own it.

_SkyWatch- _Some readers may recognize the name from a certain IDW comic series, but I assure you, I'm using the name only. And, just so no one gets antsy, I don't own IDW Transformers either.

_David Banes- _Chase mentions a "David" down below, and just to reduce the ambiguity of the name, it is Mikaela Banes' father, or Chase's older brother, whichever way you want to look at it. I hope that clears things up for anyone who's confused

_Klingon- _An alien species from Star Trek. Once again, I don't own, but Gene Roddenberry Rules!

_Jabba the Hutt_- Star Wars; don't own.

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Comfort Comes in Many Forms **

"_Lonely! I am so lonely! I have nobody to call my own! Ohhhhhh!" _

"Have some compassion, bro! Turn that crap off!" Miles demanded, leaping up from his beanbag chair to pound on the wall that divided his room from his older brother's. "The dude's had his heart ripped out and is bleeding all over the floor; he doesn't need you rubbing it in his face!"

Sam groaned, scrubbing his face with his hand. "You're not exactly helping by broadcasting the fact, Miles."

Miles ignored Sam in favor of defending his best friend from his relentless older brother. "I mean it, Brett! Turn the crap or I'll tell Mom where your stash of Playboys is!"

"Empty threat!" Came a muffled voice from the next room.

Miles grinned triumphantly; he knew a thing or two about people hiding dirty secrets, being the conspiracy freak that he was, so he was well aware of the stash of Playboys his brother had hidden in the back of his closet: guaranteed victory for Miles over his unfortunately-blood-related older brother. The only thing Brett could pin him with was alien memorabilia he'd bought off of eBay, hardly something their mother would flip her lid about.

Intending to make good on his threat, Miles bounded to the door and swung it open- "Hey, Mom! I got something to tell you-!"

Instantly, the music was silenced, though Brett's muffled swearing easily traveled through the wall; brotherly love at its best.

"Never mind, Mom! False alarm!" Miles hopped back to the crammed corner of his room where he and Sam had set up camp, reclaiming his misshapen beanbag chair with an air of utter triumph. "I win," he announced smugly.

Sam managed a half-hearted roll of his eyes. "Good for you."

Miles slung an arm over Sam's sagged shoulders, offering a one-armed squeeze of support. "Anything for my man Sam!" he laughed.

"I can feel the love," Sam replied, ducking away from his best friend's love in order to unpause the video game they'd been playing, letting any possible conversation between them be reduced to grunts interspersed with swearing as they raced their virtual cars around a pixilated city.

Miles, in classic Miles fashion, leaned forward as if he were in the car he was racing, swerving his body as he took the turns, humming under his breath in imitation of the car engine. He grinned the entire time, pretending not to notice that Sam was sucking more than usual.

Actually, Miles was pretending not to notice _a lot_ of things about his best friend, like the fact that the summer had been a bust because Sam had spent most of it with his _ex_-girlfriend doing God only knew what, and whenever Miles had even gotten to _see_ Sam, like at the Mission City clean ups, the guy was _different_; still good-natured, still too smart-mouthed for his own outcast status, but Miles had known Sam since preschool and there was something _different_ about him. Ever since Mission City got leveled, Sam had been… not Sam. It was more noticeable now than before, ever since his concubine girlfriend called it quits. Sure, he was bummed, what guy wouldn't be? But what Miles could see in Sam's eyes went beyond that- there were shadows there, secrets, something a little more grownup than what Miles was used to seeing, as if Sam had spontaneously grown up while Miles wasn't looking…

On the final stretch of the race, Sam's race car hit an obstacle and veered off to the side, crashing into a power poll, promptly bursting to flames. Miles happily accepted the win by default, spouting a few customary lines about how Sam got owned, and how he, Miles the Master of All Video Games, kicked Sam's ass royally! All the fun was zapped from the victory taunting when Sam refused to even give some jabs back. He didn't even bother to give a nasty look back.

"Dude, you're taking all the fun out of this," Miles sighed, slumping back into his beanbag chair. "If I'm going to win, at least have the grace to cry like a little bitch when I rub it in your face."

Sam sagged, the controller flopping out of his hands as his head lolled back. "Sorry," he offered half-heartedly. He really did feel like crying, but not like a little bitch, and _definitely _not in front of his best friend.

Finally fed up with pretending that Sam was okay, Miles raked his hands through his tangled hair and broached the subject he'd been avoiding for the last few days. "Would you quit moping over Mikaela, dude? You're putting the rest of us guys to shame" he said, half pleading.

"It's not that simple," Sam countered, groaning as if he were in pain. "She was just so… different from every other girl in school- special. We had a connection. I thought it- _we_ were special."

"Face it, buddy, the only connection that you and the concubine had was when you two screwed. Girls like her don't stay with dudes like us; you were like a… a temporary psychotic breakdown or something. There are still plenty of girls in the world who hang out on the same rung of the social ladder as we do; you still have a chance with one of them."

Sam looked far from comforted, which only served to make Miles more uncomfortable. As his friend sagged deeper into his seat, looking like he was trying to melt into the floor, Miles' gaze darted about his alien posters and scribbled conspiracy theories, searching for something else to say.

"It's not like you didn't see it coming… right?"

"That's what sucks about the whole thing, Miles- I _didn't _see it coming!" Sam exclaimed, surprising his friend with the sudden outburst.

"You can't be serious," Miles countered disbelievingly. "Hot girl plus nerd does not equal happily ever after, especially in high school."

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. He calmed down marginally and replied, "Okay, so I knew that maybe _someday_ we'd breakup… we weren't going to last forever or anything, things like that don't happen, but I never saw it happening _now_. Being with her felt so… _right_. You know?"

"No, I don't know." Miles had 40 year old virgin written across his forehead.

Sam resisted the urge to point out that Miles would probably never know, but reminded himself that he was at his friend's place for hangout time and it wouldn't help his case if he started a fight. "It was just- I don't know… everything just felt so perfect between us. I never thought she'd actually go out with me, but once we were together it was like… like a perfect match." His face crumpled slightly. "I honestly thought that we had something more together than great sex and my car!"

Miles couldn't resist the smile that played around his mouth. "The car I could see, but great sex, huh?"

"The best."

"Knew it." Just because Sam was relatively private about his escapades didn't mean rumors couldn't spread in the locker rooms. "Bet it's been good when your girlfriend probably has more experience than a porn star."

Sam's vaguely despondent face instantly morphed into a scowl. "She isn't like that!" he snapped. "Most of the shit about her is just made up by the football team. You know her- you hung out with us at Mission City in the summer. She's actually a really nice girl when you get to know her."

Miles flinched at Sam's tone, trying to balance himself between his roles as best friend trashing ex-girlfriend and understanding guy reminiscing with his brokenhearted friend. "Okay, okay, so Mikaela isn't that bad, as far as chicks like her go, but she still dumped you."

"I know."

"And you've _got_ to stop moping. You're starting to bum me out."

"It's not that easy. I really lov- uh, _liked_ her." He really, _really_ liked her. No matter how much he talked it out with Bumblebee, his vaguely understanding alien best friend, or chatted it out with his supportive yet too cloistering parents, or hashed it out with his human permanently virgin best friend, Sam wasn't going to feel better any time soon. He didn't want to be a pissy whiner about it, but Mikaela had been the only other teenager in the world that Sam could talk about his real life with, talk about the Autobots and Decepticons with, or call in the middle of the night if he woke up in a cold sweat because Megatron had squished him between his fingers again. Now that they were on a "break," he doubted it would be so easy to talk.

"That sucks man," Miles replied, not knowing exactly what to say for the situation. He rocked back and forth in his beanbag chair, tossing his game controller between his hands absently. Sudden inspiration hit and he hopped up, scooting towards his cluttered computer desk. "You know, I think I got something to cheer you up… At least, well… you gotta check it out. You'll get a kick out it."

"What is it?" Sam asked from his seat, watching Miles boot up the whirring monster.

"Just a website I found last week- it's really new, but it's really popular."

Sam, despite his doom and gloom, hauled himself up to indulge in Miles' flights of fancy for the sake of their friendship. "This isn't a porn site, is it?" he asked warily. Normally, he'd be all eyes for something like that, but now…

Miles laughed. "No such luck," he replied, clicking into his browser. "It's an alien site that popped up overnight- it's weaseled links into every site I administer to. I think freaking computer geniuses are running the site."

Sam felt like he should be rolling his eyes, but he froze when the site came up… "Holy shit."

"I know, man! It's awesome, right?" Thinking he had sufficiently distracted Sam from his miseries, Miles scrolled down the page, revealing picture after picture of highly incriminating evidence of alien life forms, or just major destruction.

"Let me see that." Sam nudged his way into the computer chair, taking control of the mouse. With his heart in his throat and his lungs feeling like they'd constricted two sizes too small, Sam stared hard at the succession of pictures ranging from flaming comets to Mission City with scattered remains of robotic hardware still lying in the streets. Flashes of the actual battle- things that could have been metal hands or feet, bodies colliding, but the dust stirred up from the fight coupled with shaking hands made it hard to figure the images out. There were a few blurry pictures of a great dark thing barreling through the sky that Sam guessed was the _Uller_ seen from a distance before the crash; a couple were of the Torngat Mountains, with the Cybertronians' odd footprints indented in the packed snow, images of the massacred humans featured in a few photos, and then finally a series from Tranquility, complete with a fuzzy picture of the Neutral-Cons' _huge_ leader as he flew overhead as a kickass jet, only half transformed.

Sam was utterly at a loss to grasp the unreality of the situation. What was he supposed to feel when his top secret alien buddies were being leaked to the internet like some cheap celebrity scandal? Shocked? Incredulous? Pissed off that obviously _someone_ on base leaking the photos?

"I think this one is the coolest," Miles intoned, cutting into Sam's thoughts. A finger came into his line of sight as the blonde teen pointed out Soundwave's money shot. "No way that's CGI," he said firmly. "Whatever it is really looks like a Blackbird jet, and I _know_ one flew over town the night this was taken. Coincidence; I think not."

Aside from the mantra of '_Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!' _that was repeating relentlessly through Sam's head, he had no reply, except for gibbering a distinctly squeaky, "Holy shit."

Miles propped himself on the edge of his desk. "Told you it was awesome," he exclaimed, adopting a smug look. He translated Sam's expression of absolute terror to one of awe, which meant he had done his duty in distracting Sam for a little bit.

"Yeah… awesome…" Sam began scrolling back to the top, eagerly searching out the name of the site so as to bring it to the attention of some other alien-informed humans so they could freak out over it with him. "Um- Miles, I know it's been great hanging out here all Saturday and all, but I just remembered I gotta be somewhere right not…" Dammit, the mouse wasn't scrolling fast enough!

Miles looked crestfallen, having finally gotten his best friend back and now he was leaving again. "Okay, fine…" he sighed, pushing away from the desk. "Um… if you get the chance, call, okay? It'd be cool to hangout again. It's been a while since we've done anything like this." And for further incentive, Miles added, "If you come over, I can kick your ass at racing again."

Sam offered a distracted smile, memorizing the address of the website. "Great. Sounds awesome. See you then," he chimed off without thinking. He was out the door before anything else could be said. He had the name of the site emblazoned in his mind's eye, racing to get to Bumblebee as soon as possible.

Whoever was behind this _SkyWatch_ site was a danger to them all.

* * *

In the last six orns Hound had spent amongst the humans, especially around his human proprietor, he had learned of several rituals and habits the curious species took part in.

One was _cleaning_. Many of them commonly took "showers" or "baths" at least once an Earth day, although he had observed Chase foregoing any hygienic efforts for several days. They employed the usage of several different products to clean themselves, ranging from cleansers of the skin to cleaners for their hair- many of which had been thrown at him the orn he'd peeked in Chase's bathroom window, shortly after his arrival on Earth. It did not take long for him to figure out the ritual was a necessary one amongst a species that constantly shed its skin, excreting oils and other organic fluids. The act could almost be equated to his own species idea of the wash racks for their cleaning purposes, though Cybertronians certainly had no need to conduct themselves in the wash racks as often as the humans; once every few orns was fine, if even that, just to get the grime out from under your armor, or to shine up your paintjob.

When Hound had shared his views with Chase, even calculating that it had been nearly 25 orns, or 5 months, since he'd last used any wash racks, she'd washed him just to spite him.

Another interesting ritual that Hound had learned of was the act of listening to the radio. Since the Mu-class virus prevented him from accessing the transmissions himself, he had grown fond of listening to them via the dilapidated radio Chase had set up for him. It was so much like the informational hubs that had operated during Cybertron's Golden Age, filling the airwaves with a plethora of things ranging from atmospheric conditions to news from other colonies, announcements from the Prime, even playing sound bytes picked up from alien planets- sometimes, when Hound's attention drifted, he could almost imagine being home again. He had often enjoyed listening to the channels Blaster operated on, seeing as the microbot played alien sound bytes more often than not.

Again Hound had shared his views with his human ally. Upon realizing that the alien was reminded of home when he listened to the radio, that he _missed_ his home, Chase had gone out and bought a brand new radio so that the stations wouldn't crackle when he listened.

Of course, she complained terribly afterwards that he listened to way too much country.

But the radio was not the only place Hound found familiarity. The humans themselves reminded him of home- not their bodies, were a squishy and alien to him, but their interactions, conversations, they were so similar to what he knew. They had similar concepts of friendship and commodity; interacting with those they were familiar with and fond of on a regular basis, engaging in conversations ranging over numerous topics. They told jokes and laughed with one another. They gathered in social settings to interact with others of their own kind, possibly meet new acquaintances.

"It's quite amazing how close you can become with others of your own kind without even a form of interfacing to get to know each other," Hound had commented one day, to which Chase had snorted and shrugged.

"That's what liquor's for," she replied, returning to work. "You get to know a person real well after a couple good shots."

Aside from the alcoholic beverages Chase insisted were necessary to cope with the majority of the human race, Hound found that such interactions were so reminiscent of his own kind that it made his spark ache, homesick, wishing he could call out to Mirage, or Smokescreen, or Optimus Prime to come and get him so he could be amongst his own kind again. Pit, he would have taken Ratchet yelling at him if it meant he could listen to someone in his native tongue.

However, it was not only the humans' activities that left the Cybertronian with a sense of distant familiarity.

Humans, on an individual basis, held distinct personalities of their own that would not have been amiss had they been created as Cybertronians instead. Were Hound still part of the anthropological research core, he would have presented Chase as evidence of this startling theory that humans, even organics in general, were not all that different from Cybertronians- personality wise, anyways. Before this, Cybertron had interacted with organics in a more peripheral manner, careful of their interactions and trades with the carbon-based species because of their perceived primitiveness and Cybertron's lack of knowledge of them, but as Hound was quickly learning from his extended immersion with this organic species, they had a lot of potential. Were it not for the vastly different fundamental elements that made up their two species, Earthlings could have been highly competent as Cybertronians.

Even now, as he silently observed his human ally as she interacted with her charge, he noted the features that would have made her highly compatible as a Cybertronian. There was no denying that Chase Banes was an irritable, bad tempered, overly defensive creature- one description he had overhead in the back lot of Geary's Garage was "evil bitch," but, in his own opinion, that was a little harsh. In Hound's optics, the female who'd saved him and continued to care for him was a fiery being, fiercely guarded, but Hound had caught kindness lurking in her. He marveled at her sense of loyalty; as mixed up as she was, she protected whomever she felt needed the help. Even as virtual strangers, Chase had risen to defend Hound against the 'astronomers' that had come looking for him, and her protection had not waned since then; she tended to his injuries as best she could, checking in on him often, making sure he was comfortable and still alive.

As he watched her now as she indulged in yet another ritual with her niece, Hound knew very well that if Chase Banes had been made of metal, or if he had been made of flesh, they very likely would have been an interesting pair of friends. As it stood, Hound was the Cybertronian pretending to be a lifeless truck in her shed while Chase was the Earthling pretending her truck wasn't a living space robot while she and her niece lounged on his bed.

"I'm sorry you gotta sit around all day doing nothing," Chase had murmured to him once, half passed out in his back seat. "I'd talk to you more if I could, but I don't want you to get caught."

"It's alright, Ah don't mind much. Ah know you're only tryin' ta protect me," he had assured her in a soft voice, adjusting his interior conditions so that she would be more comfortable. "Beside, your species is really fascinatin'- Ah don't mind watchin' ya."

"Voyeur," Chase had mumbled, laughing sleepily, before promptly flopping face down and passing out.

Indeed, Hound could be considered a voyeur of sorts as he eavesdropped on the interactions between the two females he watched over in silence- both of them were in a relatively good mood, conversing in loud, fast voices that broke into laughter often. From what Hound had gathered, they were participating in an activity commonly known as 'girl time,' which served as a distraction from the youngest Banes' recent difficulties, the details of which Chase had refused to elaborate to Hound, so he knew of only what had been discussed in his vicinity.

"-I tell you, Mickey, trucks are the way to go. Screw all your tiny, wimpy cars; they're nothing but shrapnel after an accident. Trucks on the other hand-," Chase patted Hound's bed fondly, "They always come out on top."

"Oh please, you can't tell me you'd take a boxy, gas-guzzling monster over a sex-worthy top-down Mustang, or the horsepower perfection of a finely tuned Lamborghini engine. I refuse to be related to you if you do."

"Ha! You and David got the same tastes in cars- all flash and show, no real power! Give me something that'll haul a half ton any day!" Again, her hand slapped Hound proudly, opening her mouth before she even thought about what she was saying. "I mean, Look at this baby! Prime example of pure power perfection! If it were a man, I'd fuck 'em! That's how beautiful this truck is!"

Hound, more than a little amused, vibrated with silent laughter.

Mikaela rolled her eyes and laughed as she poured another round of piña coladas from the dripping mixer sitting between them, handing one glass over to Chase while she kept the other. She'd made this batch a little strong for her own tastes, the coconut rum overpowering the tangy pineapple juice, but it was better than the margarita concoction Chase had mixed up earlier that had them both on the ground laughing and gagging from the sourness of it.

"Canucks and their trucks," she teased.

"Car thieves and their cars," Chase retorted, making at face.

Mikaela stuck her tongue out, and then laughed for what felt like the thousandth time in the last two days. It had been a complete abandonment of reality from Friday morning to Saturday evening for the Banes girls, holing themselves up in the shed with a stash of junk food and drinks, letting the radio blast at ungodly volumes while they worked away on their own automotive projects. It was nice to be laughing instead of crying.

Settling back against the truck's bed walls, trying to ignore the fact that the metal felt far warmer than it was supposed to be, Mikaela pressed on with their earlier game. "Okay, okay, okay, getting away from favourite vehicle- um… favorite actor?"

"Easy- Robert Downey Jr.," Chase replied proudly.

A peel of laughter reeled from the teen. "Oh come on! _Robert Downey Jr._?!"

The older woman grinned, for once not getting defensive. "Did you even _see_ him in _Iron Man_? That man is a god!" She groaned appreciatively. "I mean, a man like him walking around in the mechanical orgasm that is the Iron Man suit… I did not spend four years getting my degree _not_ to drool over something like that." Mikaela dissolved into more abandoned laughter. Both of them were a little more buzzed than they cared to admit- it was getting to the point where _everything_ was funny.

"He's so old," Mikaela accused as soon as she recovered.

"Honey, he's only a little bit older than me," Chase laughed, slurping her drink. "Enough about me, it's your turn; favorite actor?"

Mikaela grinned, lolling onto her stomach as she thought it over. The grin on her face felt permanently fixed. This was 'girl time' between the two of them, something they hadn't had in a _long time. _She'd forgotten how much fun it was to just hang out with Chase, one on one, without someone bothering to get defensive or snappish.

"I'd have to say… Johnny Depp- but just from _Pirates of the Caribbean_. I love him as Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Now who's into older men?"

"But it's Jack Sparrow!" Mikaela countered, fully aware that this could be her one dorky fault. "Who doesn't like Jack Sparrow?"

"Fine, fine, point taken," Chase rescinded. "It's the pirate booty, isn't?"

"Definitely."

"That's my girl."

They laughed until Mikaela prompted the next question- "Favorite actress?"

"Angelina Jolie!" And then Chase added, "but only before all the Brad Pitt fuckery; Jolie as Lara Croft forever." She made a sound of complete satisfaction. "I'd go lesbian for that woman."

"Ugh- that's an image I don't want haunting me," Mikaela groaned, scrubbing her hands over her eyes.

"Me and Jolie? That is a very beautiful thing!"

"I don't want to think about it!"

"_Please_- it's not like you haven't kissed a girl yourself. You're in high school for God's sake; it's the time for experimenting!" Chase's sharp eyes watched her niece for a second, catching the tell tale sign of guilt. "See? Knew it." She leaned forward in interest, quirking an eyebrow. "Where and when?"

"Oh God, I can't believe I'm telling you this!" Mikaela took a long drink of her piña colada for strength. "It was a couple of years ago, when you first came down to look after me. I snuck out to a party at the lake with some friends and…well, you can probably guess what happened." Chase nodded with an amused light in her eyes. "I just remember drinking- _a lot_- and then all of a sudden I was kissing someone- I think her name was Vanessa."

"Locked lips with the first person you saw, huh?"

"Pretty much."

"Know the feeling," Chase assured sagely, bobbing her head. "I've had my fair share of drunken girl kisses. In fact," she continued matter of factly, "I dated a girl for an entire night, once- or, at least, I think I did. I can't really remember."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was the first time I ever had tequila, and holy fuck what a night."

"What did you do?" Mikaela queried, loving this opportunity to get to know her aunt again after so long a living with a miserable stranger.

"I got no idea! I just remember waking up the next morning soaking wet with someone else's clothes on, and the girl was slipping me her number!" She raised her glass in a toast. "Happy twentieth birthday to me!"

"You're horrible!" the younger Banes girl laughed.

"Yes, yes I am," Chase replied proudly. "Now it's your turn, Mickey- favorite actress?"

"Um… I don't know…"

"Lie to me then- pick someone."

"Fine…" she mulled over her options, not as familiar with celebrity names as most of her media-obsessed ex-friends were. "I guess I like that girl from _Juno_."

"Bah, never seen it."

"It's pretty good," Mikaela reasoned, taking a few more sips of her piña colada. The sweet coconut taste of the rum made her head swim a bit. Looking outside the thin sliver of open door in the shed, she could make out the darkness of late night and the orange glow of the streetlamps. It suddenly dawned on her that two days of good times and little sleep was starting to catch up with her- she yawned.

"Getting tired?" Chase smirked.

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

"No, really, I'm-," she was caught off by another yawn. In an attempt to keep herself awake longer, she pressed the dewy exterior of her glass to her neck. "I'm fine. I'm having fun; I don't want to ruin it." Her dark gaze lifted to Chase's. "It's been so long since we've done anything like this… I miss this."

Hound curiously listened in as Chase sighed, shifting her weight carefully to get more comfortable. This was one of the few times her guard was not up and her mouth wasn't full of spite; it was a good opportunity to get to know his friend better.

"I've missed this too," the older Banes replied, her voice softened from its usual rasp. "I forgot how fun hanging with you can be- it's even better now, now that you can hold your liquor."

"It's better than me puking everywhere," Mikaela joked.

"I still remember picking you up from your first drunken party- your dad was so pissed he made me drive out to get you." Humored by the memory, Chase chuckled and pointed an accusing finger at her guilty niece. "You ended up puking all over my back seat. I had to carry you into the house!"

Mikaela's nose wrinkled, remembering the incident. "You even made me wash out the car the next day, _with_ my hangover."

"You puke it, you clean it," Chase stated firmly.

"Fair enough," the teen shrugged, then sighed, finally saying, "You know, I've miss you."

"Mickey, I haven't gone anywhere."

"Yes you have." Too inebriated to stop herself, Mikaela crawled a little closer to Chase's sprawled legs, curling up next to the familiar warmth. She let the words fall from her mouth before she could stop them. "You and I used to be like best friends- remember? Even when you lived in Canada, you called every week, and you'd fly down to visit almost every holiday… I miss the fun Chase I used to be able to talk to and hang out with." The one woman in the world she could relate to after her mom died. "How come we don't do this anymore?"

It was a while before the older woman could answer. She downed the rest of her drink for strength, and then bent her head to lay a kiss to Mikaela's forehead. "Things happen, sweetheart. Things change."

"You could be nice once in a while," Mikaela murmured, her eyelids drooping. "I wouldn't mind that. Be like the old you."

"I'm always nice."

"No, I mean _actually_ nice- you know, like in a human way."

"Oh what- and I've been Klingon nice for the last couple years?"

"…no, more like Jabba the Hutt kind of nice."

There was a long, flat silence that drifted between them for a while before Chase snorted, flicking Mikaela in the head. "You're a bitch."

"And I thought that was your area of expertise."

"You're full of one-liners tonight, aren't you?" Chase drew her fingers through Mikaela's hair gently. "Maybe I could try to be nicer once in a while," she conceded quietly.

"That be nice," Mikaela sighed, half asleep already. She pillowed her head on her arms, back curved against the hard corded plain of her aunt's leg.

"I hope hanging out took your mind off things," Chase murmured, quirking a half smile.

Mikaela nodded slowly, eyes closed. "Yeah, thanks. It's been the best."

"That's good. Night, Mickey."

"Night, Chase."

Sensing that the human youngling was beginning to drift into recharge, Hound discreetly increased his surface temperature a few degrees to ensure her comfort, even vibrating gently to further sooth the human into sleep. Soon enough, the young female's body was limp against his bed, her breathing soft and slow.

He remained silent for a long time, barely aware of either presence on his back since their combined weight hardly registered on his pressure sensor grid. It was almost like a ghost touching him as Chase slid her body onto her back, crossing her arms under her head.

"Mikaela's in recharge?" he enquired quietly, shifting on his wheels carefully.

"Yeah, she's out cold," Chase replied under her breath. "Thatnks for- you know, putting up with this for the last two days. I know it must have been frustrating not being able to move or talk for so long."

"Nah, don't apologize- it's fine. Ah gathered a lot of insights from the experience."

He felt the human's body vibrate with silent laughter. "You've been studying us this whole time?"

"Ah… yes an' no, Ah guess. Ah was hoping ta get ta know ya better. You sure don't make it easy ta get ta know ya." It was more than a little frustrating not to have that interfacial option.

"That's because I'm still not sure I trust you, Hound," Chase answered honestly. "If you really are what you say you are- and I'm still having a hard time believing that, then why would something like _you_ even give something like _me_ the time of day? For all I know, you really are the bad guy in whatever intergalactic war you're fighting and as soon as you're better, I'll be nothing but a smear on the bottom of your foot."

"Ah'd never-."

"You say that, Hound, but there's no way for me to be sure."

"So you're protecting yourself?"

"You can call it that, sure."

"Then why help me in the first place?" He was careful with modifying his voice, making it unobtrusive, hoping to offset any defensive measures Chase might employ against him. He was surprised when, instead of the usual growl he got when he pried into something Chase didn't want him asking about, his human companion rolled over, seemingly vulnerable as she pressed her cheek to the warmed metal of his bed.

"I don't know," was her whispered, confused reply. Even if Hound had no basis for comparison, he could have sworn she sounded almost scared. "When you were unconscious outside my house, you have no idea how pissed off and scared I was. There were so many times when I thought I could have turned you in! I could have handed you over to anyone! But I didn't, and I don't know _why_. And then you woke up…" she trailed off, realizing how vulnerable she was making herself by opening up like this. She cleared her throat, shaking it off. "Never mind, Hound. I'm just a stupid human with a death wish."

"No, you're not." He was honestly curious now, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom; why was it, after only such a short while with this creature, he was as intensely interested in her as he was? "What happened when Ah woke up?"

She made a frustrated sound. He could hear her shaking her tangled mop of hair. "It's _dumb_, Hound. Just forget it."

"Please, Chase- Ah want ta know."

"Oh, for God's sake..." she raked her hands through her hair, hissing out a sigh. "You… when you woke up, you were so hurt, but you were still so nice to me-."

"If Ah were a Decepticon, would Ah bother being nice at all?" Hound asked, trying to impress upon the creature that he really was as nice as he acted.

Her lips pursed. "I don't know, maybe the Decepticons are a really nice bunch. I wouldn't know." Before the alien could interrupt again, she carried on, "It doesn't matter anyways. It didn't even matter that you had that virus inside you, or that you were bleeding everywhere, or that you could barely walk, you were still so freakishly _nice_… I didn't know what to do with you. I still don't." She paused, unsure of where to go from there. It had been a long time since she was so open, especially with someone she'd only known for such a short time. "I… I don't know how to explain it… you made me feel human again, I guess. I wanted to protect you."

Hound breathed a soft laugh before he could stop himself, amused by the sweet irony of a tiny being like Chase protecting him. He felt the human tense immediately and he cursed his stupid mistake.

"I told you it was stupid," Chase snapped, scrambling to get up.

"No, Chase- please! It's not stupid!" he stuttered quickly. "You saved mah life! How could Ah think that's stupid?"

"I'm just kidding myself with this, okay? As soon as your friends find you, you'll be gone and we can forget about each other. It's as simple as that." She sprang down from the bed and made her way to the shed door. "This is just a temporary arrangement, and then everything will go back to normal for the both of us. There's no point in getting to know each other like this. Forget everything I just said."

"What if Ah want to be friends with ya, Chase?"

Her rigid body froze in the doorway, silhouetted against the light of the streetlamps. "Then you're shit out of luck. I have enough friends."

"And Ah'm alone," he countered fervently. "You're the only friend Ah have right now. Without you, Ah don't know where'd Ah'd be. Who knows- Ah might even be dead if it weren't for you." He ignored Chase's snappish _"I doubt it!", _carrying on as if she hadn't spoken. "Ya patched me up, ya gave me a place ta stay… let me give ya something in return. Ah just wanna be your friend, that's all. Who knows how long Ah'm gonna be stuck with ya?"

At first, he worried that his impassioned pleas fell on deaf ears, but eventually the tension eased out of Chase's shoulders and she turned to face him again, eyeing his backend and cab reluctantly, trying to discern where to stare. The blood hound hologram materialized in the air for her. She reached out and ghosted a hand over the intangible dog, causing the hologram to ripple.

"You're such a dummy," she sighed, sagging in defeat. It seemed there was a soft spot in her heart of coal for Hound after all.

"Thanks for giving me a chance."

She snorted, crawling back onto to the bed. "Don't blow it." It almost sounded like she was pleading with him not to.

"Ah'll try not too," Hound replied, heartened to have obviously gained this new smidgeon of trust. "Maybe, since we're friends an' all, and Ah know you promised Mikaela that ya'd try… maybe Ah could… well, what Ah mean ta say is… if ya wouldn't mind, Ah could help you, too- like you helped me." He was suddenly eager for something he couldn't grasp.

"_Hound-,"_

"-Ah don't know much about human culture, an' we haven't known each other long, but you've done so much for me, and Ah really want ta do something for ya too. Ah'd love ta try an' help ya. Ah really would!"

"That's all nice and dandy, but I don't need anyone's help," Chase cut in firmly. Obviously she could give him an little tether, but the majority of herself was always going to remain behind steel walls. "I know what I said to Mikaela, but the truth is, there are some problems I just don't want to fix." She reached out to the remains of her niece's drink, finishing it in one mouthful. "Some of my 'problems' are the only things that are keeping me sane, and, frankly, you have no business thinking you can help me."

Knowing he'd overstepped a boundary, Hound scrambled to back up, eager to keep the fragile friendship between them from dying. "Ah'm sorry. Ah didn't mean… Ah just thought-."

Bitter laughter, knife-edged and acid-filled, cut through Hound's stammering.

"You may have fallen from the sky, Hound, but you're no guardian angel." He felt her shift on him, turning to his cab to lay her cheek against his lukewarm window. "Everybody's got their own problems to deal with; you, Mikaela, and myself included. If you're going to be satying with me for a while, let's try to avoid fucking each other up more than we already are?" The way her lips moved so closely to the glass, she could have accidentally kissed him.

"Then… we'll just be friends, right?" His hologram crept close, making it seem like he was resting his head on her leg. "No helping whatsoever."

Chase quirked a smile. It was weird how comforted she could feel sitting in the back of an alien robot truck she wasn't sure was a good guy or not. There was something weird about Hound. Special. Could she see herself being friends with the alien without killing him? Or him stepping on her?

"Sure, why not?"


	17. Takes a Detour

Wow, it's been over a month since I've updated and I feel so bad about it. This chapter's been a real terror to write- I've had a lot of trouble with trying to get everything just right, and still I think it's lacking. Of course, that could just be the artist being too critical of her work again, which is sadly all too common. Oh well, if anything, I just want to say that I'm sorry for the delay and that I hope everyone enjoys the chapter.

My sincerest thanks to **Cassiopeia1979, Jason M. Lee, Bunnylass, Flameshield, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, Lecidre**, and **Litahatchee**! You eight are who really kept my spirits up in this trying time to attempting to write around my school schedule only to find that my writing gift seemed to have gone south for a little while. Thank you all so much for the kind words you've given in your reviews, you have no idea how much I value your praise!

Special thanks to **Litahatchee**, who kindly looked the chapter over and picked out a few of the mistakes I'd overlooked. All the love to you, sweets!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which the Loki Takes a Detour **

Seekers. Volatile, violent, vehement Seekers of Chaar. There were many of them. And they were circling like death itself.

"I- I– I don't think th-this is such a g-good idea anymore…" Counterpunch stuttered quietly as he manoeuvred the ship through the atmosphere, straight through the center of the gathered Seekers' circling death ring.

Doubledealer's faceplate was stony as he stared out the view screen, assessing how very screwed they were if the jets around them suddenly decided they weren't worth bothering with anymore. "We're probably going to die," he stated darkly, causing a spasm to cross Counterpunch's quivering frame.

"I d-don't want to die!" he squeaked.

"And you think I'm looking forward to it?" the other mech asked, optic ridge raised. "You're fragging lucky I'm such good friends with you or else you'd be flying this thing alone."

Fractionally subdued, Counterpunch bowed his head. "Th-thanks for staying, Doubledealer."

The 'Con rolled his optics, downplaying the kindness in his gesture to stay. "It's not like I had anything better to do."

A quick chirp of the comms startled them, Counterpunch fumbling with the controls before Doubledealer elbowed him out of the way and opened the channel.

"This is Doubledealer of the _Deceiver_; what's up with the welcoming committee?" he demanded flatly. One or two jets he could understand, but _all _of them?

A dark jet broke rank, followed closely by navy one, both gliding over to hover on par with the descending _Deceiver_. Doubledealer unconsciously tensed while poor, cowardly Counterpunch hunkered down and whimpered; Skywarp and Thundercracker, the undisputed leaders of the Chaar Seekers, by far the most volatile mechs of the sect. If either of the double agents had a lick of luck in the universe, it definitely just ran out.

"We're just welcoming our dear brother home," Skywarp intoned, his voice like oil over the channel. Almost like Starscream's, but the pitch was slightly higher. "We were told that Counterpunch would be delivering him. Where is the little pile of slag?"

Counterpunch flinched, shifting uncomfortably. "H-here!" he chimed. "I- I picked Doubledealer up along the way, b-but Starscream's safe and sound! No need to worry! He's right here!"

Skywarp's deadly beautiful alt mode circled closely around the _Deceiver_, Thundercracker choosing to swing the other way, inspecting the ship in a silently condescending way. They were too close. Too unpredictable. If they chose to attack at this proximity, the _Deceiver_ had virtually no manoeuvrability, no way to defend itself against the jets. It was a long, tense silence as Counterpunch and Doubledealer waited for the jets to reappear on screen.

Once they came around front again, it was Thundercracker who spoke.

"Don't expect to be leaving this place alive," he intoned offhandedly, in the same manner that any other mech would strike up conversation. His voice, in contrast to his brother's, was deep, like thunder. "You're lucky we let you in the atmosphere."

"I believe Swindle foresaw that possibility," Doubledealer replied evenly, his head turning to fix Counterpunch with a passionless stare. "Which is probably why he assigned his most expendable mech to this mission."

"I have no doubt," the navy jet replied dryly.

As Counterpunch predictably cowered in his corner, Doubledealer maintained his even conversation with the navy jet. "As you can see, concerning the expendability of the delivery mech, therein lies the problem; Counterpunch is not alone on this ship," the double-agent coolly pointed out. "I have quite a bit more value to my designation than dear little Counterpunch here and if I were to be destroyed, well... let's just say there would be a number of very upset mechs out there in the universe."

"That sounds like a threat," Thundercracker growled.

"Not at all. I'm merely pointed out a possible outcome," Doubledealer assured, as glib as Thundercracker had been when he'd announced to them not to expect to leave the planet alive.

"I know a threat when I hear one," the jet snapped.

"Of course, whatever you say," the agent soothed.

A flash of orange out of the corner of Doubledealer's optic let him know Punch was on board for the moment. "He must hear threats often," the Autobot murmrued in his friend's audio receptor, a grin pulling at his mouthplates.

Amused, the Decepticon agent leaned away from the console so as not to be overheard. "It's probably the methane in the atmosphere degrading his audio receptors."

Punch's optics brightened, a ghost of a smile tracing his mouth plates. "You sure it's just his audios? I'd bet his neural net's been affected, too-."

"What are you laughing about in there?!" Skywarp barked, making the pair jump.

Punch immediately vacated the ship, leaving a quivering Counterpunch in his wake. "N-nothing, S-Skywarp! M-must be a problem with the transceiver. You m-must b-be hearing static."

"Don't patronize me, you little slag heap. I know laughter when I hear it!"

"J-just like Th-Thundercracker w-would know a threat?"

Instantly, Counterpunch clamped a hand over his errant mouth, wide optics darting to Doubledealer; the glare he was receiving told him everything he needed to know. He crossed a line, mixed up his characters, screwed up with a Seeker as his audience, no less. A mistake like this could prove disastrous.

"You impudent little glitch," Skywarp snarled. "I can blast you out of the sky in three astroseconds flat if I wanted to. I could make sure there's not even a scrap of you left in the universe."

Counterpunch clung to the console, wide optics turned imploringly to his only hope. 'Help me,' he mouthed to the Decepticon agent, who rolled his optics but acquiesced nonetheless. He leaned in close to the console, a mirthless smirk stretched across his faceplate; the look made Counterpunch shudder, reminding him of how much more a Decepticon Doubledealer was compared to himself.

"Now it's my turn to remind you to be careful of who you threaten, Skywarp. There's still some very precious cargo on this ship and I would _hate_ for anything to happen to it."

It took a moment for the very real threat to register, and then palpable fury seethed through the channel from both jets. "Lay a claw on Starscream's head and I'll-."

"You'll do _nothing_ until this transaction has been completed," Doubledealer pressed, ruthless and cold.

Thundercracker snorted harshly. "All merchants are alike, you and Swindle included," he spat dispassionately. "You'd do anything for a sale, even sell your own motherboards." _Or hold a brother hostage_, was his unspoken accusation, though the two double-agents heard the unsaid words easily.

"Swindle is merely a very persistent salesmech, as dedicated to the field of profit as I am," he replied, then nudged his jittering companion when they began to near the ground. Jolted into action, Counterpunch engaged the landing struts while the other double agent kept the Seekers distracted.

"Persistent and annoying," Thundercracker growled, touching down and transforming into his bipedal form. He crossed his arms impatiently as he watched the ship settle.

"We should have killed you the moment you came into the atmosphere," Skywarp hissed, transforming to drop down next to Thundercracker.

"Now, now, remember what's at stake," Doubledealer reminded as the hatch dropped, revealing himself and Counterpunch. "The way I see it, if you're really nice to us, we could negotiate prices; your brother for a bargain basement price." He took Counterpunch by the shoulder and shoved him in front. "I could even throw in some spare parts for free."

"Doubledealer!" Counterpunch cried, trying to back up, hide, go invisible, or die. He just wanted to get out of there.

"You're disgusting, making us pay for our own brother," Skywarp snarled.

Doubledealer cocked an optic ridge, his head swinging back to glance at the prone form of the ravaged Starscream laid out behind him. His gaze quickly returned to the other jets waiting on him. "Believe me, you're getting a _deal_."

"Frag you," Skywarp snapped. "I just want to see my brother."

Doubledealer stepped aside in a mockery of good manners, dragging Counterpunch with him. "He's right inside. By all means, inspect the merchandise to your spark's desire."

With a harsh snort, Skywarp charged forward, marching up the ramp and shoving passed the two mechs in his way. On his heels came Thundercracker, just as eager as he to see what had become of his dear brother. Their frames were a lot larger than that of the regular frames both Doubledealer and Counterpunch inhabited, so with both Seekers squeezing into the small rear of the _Deceiver_, there was hardly any room to manoeuvre.

"Primus…" Skywarp hissed, the moment he laid optics on his fallen brother. It felt like the bottom of his sparkcase just fell out. Before him laid... there were no words for what laid on the makeshift berth. It was a scrap pile of loosely fitted together metal sheets, broken wired tangled just beneath the surface. Cracks and gouges ran the length of the dead frame. From within the doorway, Skywarp couldn't even recognize his own brother because the frame lacked any spark resonance to identify him with.

Taking a terrifying step forward, then a second, a faint resonance was detected, finally revealing the dead spectre to be the Air Commander himself, more jigsaw than mech laid out on the berth. _"Starscream."_

"He looks horrible," Thundercracker grunted, shuffling around to the other side to get a better look at his near-death brother. They knew what condition he was supposed to be in from the brief overview Swindle had given them, but there was no way to actually grasp the severity of the situation without actually _seeing_ it. Seeing Starscream now, with their own optics, it was almost too hard to believe.

The hissing noise Skywarp issued from his vents made the silent hold vibrate. He stretched out a clawed hand to touch the prone frame, but stopped short, not able to bring himself to do it. Nervously, Counterpunch peered into the room from where he stood on the hatch ramp to watch the Seekers' reunion, but Doubledealer shook his head discreetly, pulling the quivering mech away from the open hatch.

"We may be milking them for credits, but we're not glitches; give them some privacy," he murmured. The Autobot double-agent nodded, complying.

Thundercracker was less reserved in touching the living corpse than Skywarp, reaching out to trace the broken cracks along Starscream's wings. "Whoever did this to him will pay." He said it as if it were a fact, as if it were the law of nature to destroy whomever had harmed their trinemate.

"Swindle mentioned the _Darksyde_," Skywarp stated flatly, optics narrowed as he spotted the telltale shredded ends of metal caused by rows of armour-shearing teeth. "Virus did this."

Thundercracker's hand remained tracing his brother's frame, coming to rest upon the ripped open interface panel. Someone had tried to access Starscream's databanks, and not gently. "Soundwave was involved, too, by the looks of it."

"That's right, the _Darksyde_ was involved in this from what I was able to gather," Doubledealer intoned, in hopes of goading another deal out of the pair in order to get more credits. Counterpunch shot the mech a questioning look, knowing he hadn't said as much to the mech. Doubledealer offered his own wry smile, patting him on the head. _'I have my own sources,' _he transmitted before carrying on with the Seekers. "I could even find out their whereabouts if you like, for the proper price, of course."

"We don't need your kind of help," Thundercracker spat spitefully.

"We'd rather hunt them down ourselves." Skywarp glanced out the open hatch at the barren world beyond, his circling Seekers still waiting in the skies for them. All either he or Thundercracker had to do was say the word and they would have every jet they had on this miserable planet taking off into the deepest reaches of space in order to exact their revenge on the fraggers who did this. They'd taken Starscream's order to spark the orn he'd left; while they couldn't seize control of all the Decepticons in order to make sure no one took his spot as leader, they were able to gain leverage over the other Seekers, which was really all that mattered. The Seekers of Chaar were the most dangerous of all the Decepticon factions.

None of that much mattered to Doubledealer, who saw his chance for another deal now empty. He shrugged, releasing a disappointed sigh. "Suit yourselves."

The pair chose not to reply, Skywarp taking to pacing at Starscream's side like a trapped animal while Thundercracker watched his own claws pensively as he traced along Starscream's wings, feeling worn and gouged metal under his fingertips. As he drew away, a splotch of colour smeared across his metal fingers caught his attention.

"Is this... red paint?" he asked confusedly.

Both double agents waiting outside cringed, darting glances to each other.

"He- he came like that!" Counterpunch suddenly squeaked.

Thundercracker muttered a curse as he wiped the red flakes off on his leg plating. "Is this the exact condition the _Double-cross_ found him in?" he questioned suspiciously. He wouldn't put it passed Swindle to try something stupid in order to make a couple extra credits.

"N-no, not exactly…" Counterpunch replied from behind Doubledealer, peeking out momentarily.

"Explain," the looming jet ordered.

Counterpunch did what he did best; he cowered. "He-he was f-found in w-worse condition! B-B-Blast Off did what he-he c-could to repair him, at-at no extra cost! A-and th-then the weird program d-did the rest..."

Skywarp's optics narrowed. "Weird program?" He exchanged a sharp look with his brother. They knew that Starscream had a host of programs compiled in his CPU that could definitely be labelled "weird", most of which were far too advanced for any other mech to handle, but none in particular jumped out at them as being helpful to their Air Commander's current condition. "What do you mean by 'weird program'?"

Outwardly, Counterpunch twittered and shifted, while on the inside Punch glowered and hissed; weird program his aft! Counterpunch had no idea what he was talking about! Starscream was in possession of a corrupted, mutated antivirus meant to combat Alpha-class viral warfare, leaving him virtually immune to all forms of data corruption. Immortality, in rudimentary way. Something that could have saved Arcee all those vorns ago, but instead Starscream had given him a Trojan-version of it. Damn fragger. But Thundercracker and Skywarp were not to know that.

"I-I don't know much about it… I overheard S-Swindle and the others saying it looked like a mutated program…" the shadow-painted mech stuttered. "I… it- it's memorized him, somehow; restoring him." He cast his gaze to the floor. "That's all I know."

"_That doesn't sound like any program I know of,"_ Skywarp transmitted silently to Thundercracker. _"He would have told us about something like that if he had it before."_

The only sign the other jet gave to receiving the private message was a slight narrowing of his optics. _"Starscream was allowed his secrets. Primus knows he liked to have a few lurking around." _

Skywarp snorted his acknowledgement. The two double-agents left on the fringes of the silent conversation were left to watch, optics darting between the mechs as they tried to track who was transmitting next.

"_It could be something he installed after he left Cybertron," _Thundercracker reasoned.

"_Could be…" _Skywarp grudgingly admitted. _"I wouldn't put it passed him." _

Doubledealer leaned coolly against the open hatch, assessing the two standing Seekers. Determining that he'd given them enough time for their private conversation, he decided to intercede between them. "Well? Is the program a deal maker or breaker?"

Thundercracker drew up to his full height in attempts to intimidate the merchant-agent. "We'll take him, program and all," he rumbled.

Doubledealer's faceplate curled into a smile like poison. "Excellent." He glided in, bouncing slightly on his stabilizers as if he were on the verge of letting Dealer take over. With one hand coming to rest on Thundercracker's arm and the other beckoning for Skywarp to follow them out, the merchant expertly began to manoeuvre the pair out the hatch and to the ground. "Let's complete the final transactions outside while we let Counterpunch prepare the cargo for transfer."

"Whatever," Skywarp glowered, jerking his arm away from Doubledealer's touch.

As soon as they reached the ground, preparing for the last formalities of the deal, Doubledealer suddenly became aware that the skies above them were now empty. The revelation was troubling, but not surprising; he tensed as he realized Skywarp and Thundercracker smiling, their optics fixed straight ahead on the myriad of charred-blacks and molten-reds that made up their ill-gained home. From the shadowed outcroppings cast in stark darkness from the half-light of the dying star Chaar orbited a little too closely for comfort came terrifying figures, looming bipedal mechs, previously airborne Seekers, their red optics glinting brightly at him as if he were the glitchmouse in their cybercat games. Some had their weapons charged and trained on him.

With sickening clarity, it dawned on Doubledealer exactly why he hated dealing with Seekers; they might not be the smartest mechs in the universe, but pit if they were the most likely to play dirty.

Instead of fearing for his life, as Dealer most assuredly would have were he have to come along instead of Doubledealer, the Decepticon quirked his faceplate in a cruel smile, looking death head on as it came forward to greet him.

"It seems I'm not the only doubledealer around here," he commented offhandedly.

"I told you, you aren't leaving this place alive," Skywarp smirked. "You were just too stupid to listen."

"Perhaps." Maybe he shouldn't have been so nonchalant over the matter of his death being astroseconds away, but he couldn't help the goading shrug he gave. "I can't say I wasn't expecting this, though it _is_ an inconvenience that you wasted our time for so long instead of simply destroying us. Time is a valuable commodity, you know."

Thundercracker waved to two mechs emerging from behind a jagged rock nearby, signalling them to board the ship and grab Starscream. "We're a little smarter than what mechs generally give us credit for," he said, directing a smirk in Doubledealer's direction. "If we had destroyed you midair, there was a chance that Starscream could gave gotten hurt in the crossfire. If only Counterpunch had been aboard, we would have simply taken Starscream and killed the waste of space, but you're a lot smarter than Counterpunch is. We needed you off the ship in order to get our hands on Starscream." A satisfied smile crossed the Seeker's faceplate. "Once we have him, we'll kill you."

"Ah, I see," Doubledealer replied blandly, as if it were a revelation he'd already come to long before. He watched the hatch of the Deceiver for a while, tracking too-large shadows as the shifted about within the ship, trying to gather Starscream's frame in a way that was least likely to damage him. He turned up his receivers on his audios, just barely able to catch Counterpunch's whimpering as the Seeker's bullied him into a corner. It was a tense breem while they waited for Starscream to be brought to the mouth of the hatch, carried like a precious jewel in the arms of the two unnamed Seekers. It was almost enough to make Doubledealer laugh; whereas before, Starscream had practically been the bane of every Decepticon's existence, it seemed he'd been relegated to an almost god-like worship in his absence, no doubt borne from his brothers' rule over the other Seekers, beating it into their space-degraded half-bit CPUs until the lie sounded like the truth.

It took some awkward manoeuvring on the Seekers' part in order to fit their frames through the hatch once more with Starscream's unconscious frame in their arms, but the moment they came into sight, a tension released from the crowd of gathered Seekers as they shifted and watched from the periphery of the landing strip, which was arguably the only thing in relatively good condition on the planet.

The high-pitched whine of charging weaponry sounded next to Doubledealer's audio, causing him to turn and stare down the blackened barrel of a very large gun. He sighed, rolling his optics. "Well, at least I'm going out on the job," he said, a little relieved that he was going to die at his own faction's hands rather than the at the Autobot's mercy, and yet a little irked that he was going to die at all.

"Want to say anything before we scatter your processor across the ground?" Skywarp asked in a semi-decorous fashion.

"Nothing in particular comes to mind," the mech shrugged.

"W-wait! D-don't do it!"

Instantly, the attention of every bot was focused on a single mech, which did nothing but cause Counterpunch to shrink away and cringe. Skywarp laughed and turned his artillery on the shadow-painted mech.

"You want to go first?" he asked.

"N-no! D-don't do it a-at all!" Counterpunch squeaked. His shaking hands held out a small, rectangular device; a remote of some sort. "I-I p-put an explosive o-on Starscream a-and if you don't l-let us o-off the planet, I-I'll active it! I-I mean it!"

While Skywarp snarled, Thundercracker spun in his heel and darted for his brother in order to validate the threat. To his great shock, a small explosive really was planted on the mech, hidden in the shadow under his head on his neck column. Bristling, he swung back to face the jittering but determined mech.

"L-let us g-go or I b-blow his head off!" Counterpunch cried. "Th-the program c-can't help him if h-he doesn't have a h-head!"

Skywarp's gaze darted to Thundercracker's, their optics locking, trying to judge the other. Could they manage to kill the little slag heap before he had the chance to flick the switch? Was taking the chance worth it?

A Seeker to Thundercracker's left took a step forward, ready to shoot, but was stopped as his leader's arm shot out and caught him about the chassis. "Stand down," he snarled. It took a moment, but eventually the mech acquiesced.

Taking that as a sign, Counterpunch waved to Doubledealer, urging him to run for the ship. The merchant-agent did as he was bide, lunging away from Skywarp's side and darting up the ramp. Once his friend was safely within the confines of the _Deceiver_, Counterpunch dared a step back, then another, and finally he pressed the controls to shut the hatch. As the ramp rose, he locked optics with the leaders of the Chaar Seekers, first with Skywarp, and then with Thundercracker. He watched as their expressions changed and knew they were seeing someone else superimposed upon in the image of Counterpunch, a mech with blue optics, his shadowed armor reflecting splashes of colour just beneath the surface under the red light of the too-close dying star.

"Let us off this planet and out of your territory or I kill him," the mech growled, and the voice that came from him was not Counterpunch's.

Silence was his reply, which he took in good faith.

The hatch sealed, the engines growled to life as Doubledealer manned the controls. It was utterly silent in the _Deceiver_ as they lifted from the ground. Tension was thick as they watched several dark shapes follow them into the atmosphere, gliding silently through the red carbon dioxide-methane atmosphere, ever deadly and beautiful in their flight. They reached the outer limits of the planet's gravitational pull, breaking free and engaging the engines to full speed. As they neared the territory boundary, the accompanying Seekers broke off, looping back towards their home. The two double-agents were still thankfully alive.

For once, it seemed Counterpunch was taken seriously.

It was a full joor before Doubledealer was able to look away from the helm station, and during that joor he didn't bother to utter a word. The silence was drowning, but Punch knew better than to disturb him. The anger that was rolling off the mech was palpable and burning. All it took was a small bit of turbulence to knock the Decepticon from his extended silence, the appearance of Punch's bright orange hand coming into view to attempt to correct their flight spurring him to smack the appendage away, growling.

"Counterpunch overstepped his bounds," the mech snapped, referring to much more than just reaching over to help with the flight controls.

"He had to do something," Punch reasoned coolly, knowing Doubledealer's anger was borne more from concern then from actual ire.

"There's nothing he could have done without breaking character," Doubledealer pointed out, his frame quivering minutely. "That was too much initiative."

"I got us out of there, didn't I?"

"Yes, _you_ did. _Punch_ did. Not Counterpunch."

"Should it matter who saved the orn? We're alive, aren't we?"

"Of course it matters, you half-bit, and you know it! Why else would there be a Punch and a Counterpunch if they weren't meant to be separate? Why would there be a Dealer and a Doubledealer? We play our parts and that's it." Doubledealer issued an exasperated sigh that rattled his vents. "We don't play mix and match or else somewhere along the line we're going to screw up, _like you just did_! If it had gone any further, I have no doubt you would have been standing there tall before every Seeker in the universe instead of that damned Counterpunch!"

"I wouldn't exactly call that a screw up," Punch huffed, arms crossed over his chassis. "I was perfectly aware of what I was doing, and if I hadn't of stepped in neither of us would be alive."

Doubledealer finally deigned it right to face the mech, optics narrowed and flashing. "You were Punch in Counterpunch's frame. You _know_ we don't do that; it's too dangerous. Something could have went wrong- your signal modulator could have short circuited, or your frames could have switched-"

"You're concern for me is spark warming," Punch drawled.

The Decepticon's expression darkened, covering up any concern that might have shown. "Who says my concern was for either of you?" he huffed. "My concern is whether or not Skywarp and Thundercracker saw something they shouldn't have."

"Even if they had seen something, I doubt they would have understood what they saw," Punch reasoned with a roll of his optics. "It's not every orn a mech comes across bots like us."

"You could have ruined _everything_," Doubledealer growled. "You and that half-bit fragger Counterpunch."

"But we didn't," Punch pointed out.

"You were close."

"There've been times when we were closer."

"Except none of those times was I at risk to get dragged down with you."

"I never would have let you get hurt," Punch assured.

"I should just kill you now for all the slag you've put me through," Doubledealer griped.

"I've known you long enough to know that that's code for "I'm too Decepticon to actually say it, but thanks for saving my aft, Punch."" The Autobot laughed.

"You're as delusional as Counterpunch is a coward."

Punch rolled his optics, scrubbing his faceplate with his hand. "Can't you just be happy that I saved our afts?"

"Not by a long shot," the Decepticon snorted. "You risked our identities, Counterpunch has now made an enemy of every Seeker in the universe, and worse of all, we didn't even get paid for our troubles! The pit will rust over before I forgive you."

"You're such a Decepticon," Punch sighed, shaking his head.

"Noble Autobot slagger."

"And yet you stick around," the Autobot intoned.

"I've got nothing better to do."

Deciding that their snappish retorts were verging on ridiculous, Punch flicked his friend in the forehead. "I know that's code for you love me."

Doubledealer struck out, punching the other mech in the abdominal plating. "Guess what that's code for?"

Wheezing, Punch managed a pained smile. "How about "You're amazing, oh mighty Autobot Punch"?"

It took a moment for Doubledealer to be able to respond, fighting the urge to let Dealer have a good laugh. Instead, he rolled his optics. "Not even close. That was code for "that stupid stunt you pulled wasn't worth it"."

Straightening, Punch was careful to trace Doubledealer's frame from his head to his feet, every detail he'd become familiar with over the vorns. He cocked his head at what he saw, smiling wryly. "You might say saving your aft wasn't worth it, but I definitely think it was."

Fed up with trying to knock some sense into the mech, the Decepticon scowled and turned back to the helm station. "Fine, believe what you want." He began to adjust their flight heading, picking up speed. "Let's just get you back to the _Double-cross_."

Punch grimaced, not looking forward to the moment when he would have to face Swindle empty-handed. "Yeah, right, the _Double-cross_…" He made a noise of discontent, making his way to the back of the ship in order to straighten up the mess the Seekers had left in their wake. A small noise had him glancing behind him at the helm, only to see Dealer in control of the ship.

"_Thanks,"_ the Autobot chimed quietly. Punch blinked once, only to find Doubledealer standing there once more.

"Now, was that so hard?" Punch teased.

"I think my vocal processor is burning."

* * *

Sunstreaker, for the moment, was alone in his shared quarters aboard the _Loki_.

He had just needed a moment to himself and he'd let his brother know as much, hoping his twin was enough to fend off the inquiries of Prowl and Chromia. So far, Sideswipe had been enough to detour the two older bots, but there was no telling how long Sunstreaker's peace would last. As long as it gave him enough time to sort through his thoughts, he didn't much care.

The old merchant ship they were all flying on held too many memories for him and his brother, of vorns when they had been neither Autobot nor Decepticon, simply a pair of mechs struggling for survival in the pits of the Kaon city. The _Loki_ had seen them through many tough times, and many good times as well. Sideswipe had done his best deals on the ship; he'd made the rusting pile of metal and bolts an odd home for the two of them, often filling it with laughter and sometimes illegal contraband.

On nights when Sunstreaker's lack of conscience disturbed his brother enough to send waves of concern rolling through their bond, this was the place Sunstreaker would retreat to in order to get some recharge. He would lie on the slightly crooked berth and listen to the ghosts of the past as they echoed through the narrow, short corridors- sometimes it was Flamestrike's growl drifting through the air, or rich laughter ringing across metal girders after Sideswipe had told a joke, or murmured intimacies of bots who'd stolen away within the ship for privacy.

It was not residual whispers that Sunstreaker sought now, though.

Many of the moments that had transpired on the Loki and beyond were captured forever upon the metal of the ship; bots' visages now faded but still visible, paint chipped and yet still beautiful. The _Loki_ was a canvas of dreams. Memoires.

Slowly, Sunstreaker raised a clawed fingertip and traced the brushstroke of a memory. His optics followed the implied shadows and glints of light that played across the painted armor, faceplates. These were his memories, emblazoned across the entirety of the ship, inside and outside, with paint and love and pain. When he'd sometimes found the need to withdraw from the death ring, a foreign part of his spark urging him to lay out his thoughts in colour and brushstrokes, he'd taken himself to his brother's ship and laid his thoughts out here. Sideswipe had never seemed to mind that his beloved ship was being used as a canvas.

The memory Sunstreaker gazed upon now was his fondest; not his best painting, but certainly his favourite.

Carefully, so as not to scratch away the image, the mech traced the heads of familiar long-gone friends, following spiked limbs, clawed hands, thick armor, the sharp edges of weapons. He paused as he came upon a particular figure who he had painted perched upon Sideswipe's shoulder. He shuttered his optics for an astrosecond before he dared to touch upon that particular memory. His fingers paused before daring to reach out.

Small. Too small, maybe. Her frame built in a way that was hard to discern whether she was microbot or femme. However, she was undoubtedly medical class. Dull optics. Armour as green as the carapace of a beetle.

Behind him, the door swished open with a soft pneumatic hiss. Sunstreaker knew who it was even before he entered the room.

"Sideswipe." He greeted without inflection.

"Sunstreaker." Sideswipe replied, a little more genial. He was careful as he made his way over to his brother's side, the mood in the room palpably heavy. With optics adjusted to the dim lighting, he could see where Sunstreaker's hand rested, upon the form of a tiny green bot.

"You still miss her, don't you?" he asked.

Sunstreaker jerked away with a growl. "This place brings back too many memories," he spat.

Sideswipe cringed as Sunstreaker recoiled from their bond, drawing himself away from his brother's touch. It left a stinging void inside them both, but Sideswipe said nothing, knowing it would be more painful to try and reach out to his brother when he was like this rather than let things be. For an instant, before the nothingness had swelled, he'd felt the sadness that weighed heavily in his twin's spark. It made him ache as well, but it was old pain; he was never numb to it, only used to it. He said nothing to reprimand the mech.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Sideswipe teased weakly, offering a ghost of a smile.

"_It is,"_ Sunstreaker snarled. He didn't want to remember Kaon. He didn't want to remember the orn the death ring was raided. He didn't want to remember the orn his couldn't save _her_.

Sideswipe sighed, daring to hug his brother. "I miss them all too, you know. It isn't any better for me." All their old friends were probably dead. Most of them had joined the Decepticons. Both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had had the pleasure of killing a few. That didn't mean they missed them any less.

The dim lights glinted off Sunstreaker's golden armor as he nodded. Sideswipe was as much as part of that circle as he was. "I forgot…"

"You sometimes do," Sideswipe reasoned evenly, albeit a little weakly. "You have a nasty habit of doing that."

"Yeah…" Realizing a little too late what he'd been doing, the gladiator crept back into his brother's consciousness. Gently, slowly, he peeled back the thick wall he'd thrown between them and insinuated himself back into his brother's spark. No matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be better than that- always angry, always recoiling. No matter how much Sunstreaker wanted to protect his brother from pain, he could never stop himself from hurting Sideswipe.

Sensing the apology that lurked on the tip of Sunstreaker's vocal processor, Sideswipe grasped his brother's golden shoulders and turned him so they faced each other, bringing their foreheads to touch. An intimate gesture between the two of them.

"It's alright. Don't worry about," he soothed, like he always did when Sunstreaker slipped up like that.

"No, I shouldn't have done that. I _know_ better," the golden mech sighed. "I…"

"I know. I get it. You don't have to explain," Sideswipe intoned, rubbing his forehead lovingly against his twin's. "Nobody's perfect. We all screw up sometimes."

Sunstreaker sagged against Sideswipe, trusting his brother to support his weight, to hold him up. "I know. It's just this place… the memories. It doesn't matter where I look…"

"Bro, I know where you're coming from." The red mech cocked a smile, tapping Sunstreaker's chest, above his spark, and then tapped his own. "Twins, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Even though he'd meant it in humour, the self-admonishment in the words was easily heard.

Leaning out of their embrace, Sideswipe looked to the murals stretched across the walls, zeroing in on the tiny beetle-green figure Sunstreaker had painted with such care, and then moved to trace the paintings of countless other friends. He offered a ghost of a smile to the dead and laid his forehead against the faded paint. He straightened as he received a curt message from Prowl, reminding him of his original reason for wandering over to his quarters.

"Prowl wants us on the bridge," he announced suddenly, rubbing at his forehead in case any of the old paint had flaked off on him.

"I guessed as much when you came," Sunstreaker replied, scowling. "What does he want?"

"Don't know."

"Have you done anything to frag him off?"

"I'm a little insulted that you would instantly accuse me of-."

Sunstreaker fixed his brother with a flat look. "Have you done anything?"

After a moment of pursing his faceplate, looking offended and stubborn, the mech eventually replied, "No, I haven't done anything. _Yet_."

Ignoring the blatant threat of future mischief, Sunstreaker snorted. "Then what does the glitch want?"

"It could possibly, maybe, _might_ have something to do with Ultra Magnus," Sideswipe offered, revealing that he'd attempted to eavesdrop using the special comms he'd built into the ship. "I don't think I heard him right the first time, though; Chromia's yelling was too loud to hear much over the comms."

"Could you have said that in the first place?"

"You know me; I hate to do things the easy way," the mech shrugged. "Come on; let's get going if we're going to appear at all. Everyone's already on the bridge."

"_Great,"_ the golden mech growled flatly. Nothing like squeezing a fuming trigger-happy femme on a tiny bridge with a mech clinging to threads of sanity, and then throw in a mech who started slag just for fun and an ex-gladiator with anger problems and a lack of conscience; that simply screamed _good times_. And who could forget the femme of the living dead? All together, they'd have themselves a slagging _party_. "Let's go before Prowl fritzes on us."

"Sounds like a plan," the red mech chirped, making his way towards the door.

They slid out into the hall together, Sunstreaker keeping his gaze dead and fixed ahead so that he didn't have to focus on any one of the murals that canvassed over both sides of the hall, curling onto the ceiling above them and scuffed beneath their feet on the floor; Sideswipe, on the other hand, let his gaze drift, absently recalling the past with each painted memory he came across.

As they reached Chromia's and Prowl's quarters, the doors facing each other in the relatively narrow hallway, they subconsciously leaned away from Chromia's side of the hall. It's not like they did it on purpose, it was more like a reflexive movement, an instinct; what Arcee had… it wasn't natural. It wasn't like anything any bot had ever encountered before- something that rotted a bot out piece by piece until they were nothing left but a pile of bolts and scrap metal- and that made the twins wary of her. It made _everyone_ wary of her.

Once away from the sleeping quarters, they resumed their usual saunter through the corridor, swinging into the significantly brighter hallway that led into the bridge. Even from where they stood, they could hear yelling emanating from the bridge; the clarity of it was striking, enough for the twins to thoroughly enjoy the raging curses that were ringing off the walls.

"Chromia sounds even more fragged off than before," Sideswipe noted thoughtfully.

More of a sadist than a masochist, Sunstreaker chose to get the ordeal over with as soon as possible instead of drawing out the painful occasion. Taking his brother by the arm, he dragged the both of them forward. "Let's get this over with."

"After you," the red mech replied in a mockingly cheerful tone.

The pneumatic hiss of the door was smothered out as a fresh strain of healthy swear words exploded from the dusky-blue femme raving that the front of the colourful bridge. The slightly static-strewn faceplate of Ultra Magnus was watching her from the view screen, his expression somewhat dispassionate as he allowed the abuse to go on for longer than what was completely necessary.

To the twins' surprise, Arcee was actually on the bridge instead of in her room. She appeared the only one to have noticed their entrance, acknowledging them with a slight inclination of her head, her frame propped up in the chair at the tactical station. They were quick to return the gesture, sliding their way along the opposite side to the medium-sized command centre. She stared after them for a moment too long, her disinterested gaze creeping them out a bit before she turned back to the show at hand.

Prowl caught on to their presence the moment they were close enough for his spark resonance scanners to pick them up. His head jerked around to fix them with a flat stare, halting them to the spot. As with many other mechs in the Autobot ranks, the twins were smart enough to recognize when the tactician had his emotional center on or off; this was an orn when he had it on. It had only been turned on recently, since the orn before or so, and Prowl looked worse for wear because of it; his optics were pale to the point of white, his entire frame dull and sapped of all energy. His faceplate was as set as ever, however, stoic and austere.

"_Stay there,"_ he mouthed sternly.

Out of some twisted form of latent respect neither of them new they possessed, or perhaps it was because neither of them wanted to get shot by the raging femme ranting in front of them, they stayed where they were, as silent and unobtrusive as they've ever in their entire lives, tuning in to Chromia's impassioned yelling as it reached new decibels.

"_I REFUSE!" _

Ultra Magnus grimaced, adjusting the volume levels for his side. _"For the fifth time, Chromia- be reasonable about this." _

"Are you missing a couple of chips, Magnus? Do you honestly have any idea what you're asking me?!" While one fist was shaking, her other hand securely clutched the armor above her spark in a desperate attempt to abate the constricting feeling that had overcome her the moment the commander had contacted them with his request.

"_I know exactly what I'm asking-,"_

"Apparently not!"

"_-I've weighed the options and all the consequences-,"_

"-You're asking us to throw this ship in reverse and take a detour that will have us _orns_ off course!"

With the exchange growing more heated, a dark coil of curiosity began to brew between the twins. The console next to them gave a muted bleat, in which Sideswipe automatically turned to, only to find a message scrawled across the small monitor:

_**Ultra Magnus is trying to get us to check out a lead on the disappearances. Chromia's not taking it well.**_

After reading the note a few times, the red mech glanced to Arcee, finding her hand poised over the tactical controls. She caught his stare and nodded fractionally before resuming her impartial observation. Nudging Sunstreaker, he let the golden mech read the message, smirking as the other snorted impatiently.

"I'm surprised she hasn't gone nuclear yet," the gladiator murmured darkly.

"She's probably saving that for the grand finale," the merchant mech shrugged.

Prowl's head snapped around, optics flashing. _"Mute it, both of you!"_ The sharp hiss of his words lashed them, causing them to startle. If there was one thing worse than Prowl with his emotional centre off, it was Prowl acting bipolar because his emotional centre was _on_.

Arcee looked bored, her stick-like fingers tracing the swirls of colour that decorated the station she sat at.

Chromia, despite Ultra Magnus's continued attempts to call for some order, kept up her litany of snarling. "-There are dozens of other ships out there in the Primus-damned universe for you to choose from to send on a damned mission like this! They're better crewed, armed, and prepared than we are! I know for a fact that _Astroplex_ and the _Nebular_ are on the move, as well as the _Goliath_ and the _Morpheus_! They're huge ships; they're able to spare a few bots for something like this!"

"_None of them are remotely within position to be of any use to me_," Ultra Magnus pointed out, clearly frustrated.

"Then send out a smaller ship that's in the area! Perceptor has a pod that's only a little bit ahead of us! I also heard that Cosmos is in the region! Even Powerglide is lurking around here somewhere! Anyone one of them can spare a few orns!"

"_Give me one good reason why the_ Loki _can't_ _take care of this?"_ Ultra Magnus pressed. _"From the transmission I received from Nightbeat, he is about to be abducted and transferred into Mastermind's custody; this is an unprecedented opportunity for us to be able to gain some information on this mech, possibly even track where he is and find all the bots he's holding. This isn't a big window of opportunity and I most certainly can not spend it arguing with you uselessly, so it's either give me a good reason why you can't now or I order you to take on this mission."_

Chromia looked as if she'd been punched in the abdomen, but quickly gathered herself and snarled. "If you haven't forgotten, we still have Arcee on board! There's only so long we can keep her in stable condition with the limited resources on this ship!"

The harried mech turned his gaze to Prowl for confirmation, to which the tactician nodded.

"It is true, sir," he intoned. "While Arcee has held up strongly for the past few orns, she may have a flare up at anytime. It would be a huge risk to her life if we were to proceed with this proposed mission."

After a moment, Ultra Magnus nodded, and then looked to Arcee herself, who obviously had been expecting her turn to come. She sighed, ravaged faceplate sporting a definite 'I know I'm going to die so I don't care anymore' look. "I feel fine right now," she informed carelessly. "Do whatever you want." With that said, she turned her head away to study the wall next to her, studiously ignoring Chromia's flashing glare.

Prowl stepped up before Chromia could truly unleash her anger upon the universe. "Sir, even if Arcee consents to this, there is still the matter of Chromia's condition. As you are aware, her condition has been deteriorating as well and it would be pertinent for us to get to Earth as soon as possible to reunite her with her sparkmate to prevent any further damages. The Autobots cannot afford to have a warrior such as her to be down."

"_No, we can't…"_ the mech reasoned, possibly beginning to lean to their favour. There was murmuring just beyond the view screen's capacity, a familiar voice that had Chromia further on edge than ever before. Nodding to whomever had been speaking with him, Ultra Magnus turned his attention back to the Loki crew. _"Jetfire has a point,"_ he said, ignoring how Chromia's optics flashed red at the mentioning of the scientist. Prowl smartly laid a restraining hand on the femme's shoulder. _"Chromia has survived thus long without her sparkmate and has showed excellent resilience in the face of such matters. It would be hard to believe that a few extra orns would worsen her condition to the point of incapacitation." _

"You're not the one who has to live with this orn after orn! It'll be on your head when I'm dead!" the femme howled.

"_I've had quite enough of the theatrics, Chromia_," Ultra Magnus warned firmly, his gaze hardening on the heaving femme. _"If you are not going to act as an Autobot of your rank and esteem, then you can remove yourself from this bridge and my sight until you come to your senses." _

A choked-sounding shriek reverberated through the femme, and to all present on the bridge with her, it honestly looked like she was astroseconds away from detonating. Her optics flashed, mouth opening to spit something acidic at the Commander, but her spark suddenly gave a particularly painful throb, reminding her of how truly worked up she was over the matter and that she didn't have Ironhide around to help her work it out of her system. Suddenly feeling cornered with everyone's optics on her, she smacked Prowl's hand off her shoulder and spun on her heel, sweeping passed Arcee in order to swing her into her arms, and then making a beeline for the door.

"I've had enough of this!" she snapped, bristling as she paused in the doorway. She spared only one glance back at Prowl before she left them. "I should have known how this would turn out the moment you said Ultra Magnus had come to call."

"_Chromia-."_ Magnus growled in warning.

Ignoring him completely, the femme's burning gaze remained on Prowl. "Do whatever you fragging want with this damn ship, I don't give a slag anymore. It's obvious _he_ doesn't give a slag about _us_," she hissed before disappearing into the hall.

Both mechs at the end of their tether, Prowl and Ultra Magnus exchanged pained looks.

"Just send the needed information, Magnus," Prowl sighed.

"_Of course." _

Finally, Sideswipe saw the need to step in. "Whoa, okay, I don't know if anyone's noticed, but crazy femmes aside, the _Loki_ isn't exactly equipped to go on any kind of stealth mission. I mean, have you ever seen the ship from the outside?"

Ultra Magnus nodded to the mech, showing that he was aware of the warrior's point, but obviously wasn't convinced by it. _"I've seen the Loki before, and sufficed to say it is a rather colourful ship,"_ he informed wryly. _"But, I am also well aware of what deeds the Loki has performed in the past and, despite it's colourful past and current paintjob, I am confident that the ship, as well as the crew, are the best suited of my available list to be able to handle as delicate a mission as this."_ He was already beginning the process of streaming them the necessary information.

Sunstreaker leaned his shoulder against the wall, his mouthplates slightly curled in distaste. "We own the ship," he pointed out, jerking his head to indicate his brother and himself. "Don't we get a better say in whether or not the _Loki_ is going to be used in any fragging mission?"

"_If there was any truly pressing concern about your ship being used for such matters, I'm sure you would have voiced them long before now,"_ Ultra Magnus pointed out coolly, telling Sunstreaker everything he'd wanted to know about the current conversation; the decision that the _Loki_ would go on the mission had already been made long beforehand, this was just a courtesy call.

"So, us being here… Just a formality, right?" the mech sneered.

Prowl once again fixed him with an icy glare. "Essentially, yes."

With an obnoxious snort, Sunstreaker shoved away from the wall. "That's all I needed to know," he growled, stalking out of the room. Sideswipe stayed long to look as if he were about to protest, but found that neither Prowl nor Ultra Magnus were really going to listen to him when the decision had already been made long before. He followed his twin out silently.

Now alone on the bridge, Prowl shifted on his feet, moving to the nearest console to make sure all the needed information had been transferred. Ultra Magnus tracked his progress for a short while before daring to speak.

"_Quite the crew you have,"_ he commented offhandedly, almost in a mockery of casualness.

"They're personal issues are none of my concern. As long as they still serve as warriors, they can be as screwed up as they want," Prowl stated flatly, making it clear that he did not want to discuss the _crew_ he had.

"_And how are you holding up, Prowl?"_ Ultra Magnus asked, watching the mech carefully. While the commander may not have had much of an idea of the tactician's personal wellbeing, he knew enough about bots to see when one was hurting.

Prowl shrugged, not bothering to make optic contact anymore. "I'm as fine as any of them," he replied, which said enough about him as it was; the crew of the _Loki_ was anything but _fine._ "Regardless of that, I will make sure that this mission is carried out to full capacity. As you've said, this might be one of our only opportunities to find out anything about Mastermind and his whereabouts. I'm not about to jeopardize something as important as this with miniscule personal problems."

"_I have every faith that I can count on you to see this through,"_ Ultra Magnus said warmly, smiling tiredly. _"Seeing as there doesn't appear to be anything else pertinent to discuss over this matter, I leave this in your trusted hands and I look forward to when you will be able to get back to me on this matter. Magnus out."_ The screen went black, and Prowl remained in silence for a long time afterwards.

Finally, as if coming to some decision, the storm-grey mech reached into his subspace pocket in order to fish out a small vial of topaz liquid. Flicking the top off, he contemplated the energizer for a short while before tossing it. It burned as it always did, enough for him to see black spots in his vision and for his tanks to churn and roil rottenly. As the initial effects faded and his systems began to catch their second wind thanks to the restorative drug, he quickly switched off his emotional center, thankful for the reprieve from his emotions the energizer allowed him; any more emotional stress and he would be no better off than any of his misfit crew. Confident he was well enough to face the abuse Chromia was probably waiting to heap on him, he, too, left the bridge.


	18. Connects the Dots

Whew, this chapter was a little bit of a mind-boggler. I knew what I wanted for the content, but the dialogue and narration were really hard to pin down in some places, especially for the spat between First Aid and Jetfire. I was going to base their argument a little more on in-depth psychological analysis, and then I remembered that this was fanfiction and that I didn't need to be necessarily accurate or in-depth… so the chapter got the skimmed version of everything. And Nightbeat's pseudo-metaphysical thought patterns were patched together from a video I watched on quantum mechanics and some studies I did on Intelligent Design, albeit, again, it's all very diluted. With this being fanfiction, and exams coming up soon, I couldn't bring myself to work out the whole complicated mess.

My usual heartfelt thanks go out to the reviewer of the last chapter. I am so grateful for your kind words! Every time I get a review from one of you, especially one of my regulars (you know who you are! ^^), I get this wonderful little urge to do a dance! You're all too awesome for words! My sincerest thanks to **Elita One, Jason M. Lee, Flameshield, Bunnylass, Daebereth, Chloo, Lecidre, Bluebird Soaring, Cassiopeia1979, Freakish Child, silveriss, Litahatchee**, and **theshadowcat**!

Special thanks to **Litahatchee** for doing a bit of editing through the chapter before I posted! And I can't remember if **Violetlight** read this too, but in any case, you've been too good to me, too, **Violet**! Thanks to you both for listening to me rave and reading over my works from time to time!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Nightbeat Connects the Dots**

Ultra Magnus paid little mind of the two mechs bickering in his office, too caught up in the quagmire of his own thoughts to bother sparing a thought towards the squabbling pair. He fixated on the blank screen in front of him, barely registering its presence.

It was safe to say his thoughts were not even in the Yaz'ak Kul base at the moment, but elsewhere, in an undisclosed location where a highly encrypted message had been recently transmitted, looped through several stations, and signed under several aliases, all of which meant Nightbeat's usual chronic case of paranoia was ramped up to several levels above normal. The message, once it had been decrypted and straightened out, had read out in the same strange, nonlinear thought pattern that the odd Special Ops mech thought in; looping thoughts, crisscrossing possibilities, stopping and starting in the most unusual ways.

Due, in part, to Nightbeat's paranoia, and the highly sensitive nature of his work, any information he transmitted pertaining to the disappearance cases or Mastermind were encrypted further in the data stream. Most of the transmission was still being decrypted by techies in the command center, all of whom hated and worshipped Nightbeat's extraordinary backwards, upside down encrypting skills. If Ultra Magnus hadn't known the mech for as long as he had, the entire message would have meant little more than raving gibberish, even translated into Cybertronian.

What could be decoded to comprehensible level was interesting, to say the least:

_**-I have just been informed that the crew of the **_**Double-cross **_**have been made aware of my presence and are now preparing to track me down and capture me. In light of the recent contact with a Mastermind drone and the failure to kidnap anyone off the merchant ship a few orns ago, it is my belief that with my capture, I am to be turned over into Mastermind's custody. While my skills of masking my presence are advanced, I will not be able to hide from them forever. Eventually, I will be found and taken in. I am awaiting further information on the matter from Punch, who is still stationed on the **_**Double-cross**_**. **_

_**I believe it is in the Autobots best interest to be aware of this development and react accordingly. This could very well be our best chance at tracking down the Mastermind and putting an end to the serial kidnappings. Do not mount a rescue attempt; the mastermind must be found! Included in this transmission are coordinates to my ship and the frequencies I can be found on. Send a crew to follow as soon as possible.- **_

The mere thought that it would be as easy as that to find Mastermind's whereabouts and rescue all the kidnapped bots back... It felt like a cruel joke someone was trying to play on him. It was too easy. As if someone were dangling the prize right before his fingers, but the moment he reached out to grasp it, it was going to be yanked away.

If anything, there was already a wrench in the works, if one wanted to think of the crew of the _Loki _like that.

This was a mission of the utmost importance and the only viable crew with a proper ship in the vicinity was made up of a bunch of certified basket cases. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter, his other choices weren't exactly stellar; Cosmos tended to be flighty and Perceptor wasn't much of anything except a scientist.

As much as the commander hated to say it, the _Loki_ was his best option, which was saying a lot. Chromia would curse him out all she wanted, but she and the Loki were the best the Autobots could spare.

Their ranks were thin, and growing worse as each orn passed. More and more launching announcements were trickling in, bots catching wind of Optimus's call and gathering up what they had to hop on the nearest ship. Neutrals were even picking up their tentative colonies and heading out, following the flocks to where they hoped would be peace. What Autobots remained in the far reaches of their territories were not enough to stave off the Decepticons. It was only a matter of time before the 'Cons took advantage of the thinner ranks and started plucking them apart one by one. Not that they weren't already doing that.

With a sigh, Ultra Magnus resigned himself to the situation. He couldn't very well tell his people to ignore Optimus Prime's call, but he couldn't leave all the vulnerable regions of space here susceptible to the Deceptions but letting all of them go. Nobody wins. Everybody loses.

Tiredly, Ultra Magnus glanced up at the two mechs still squaring off with each other, sighing when he realized neither had backed down from the argument.

Jetfire loomed high over his opponent, scowling darkly over the much shorter First Aid as he stood his ground, arms planted firmly on his hips. While the disagreement had begun after the medic had overheard Jetfire's medically unsound opinions on Chromia's health, the issue quickly escalated into their current spat regarding whether the crew of the _Loki_ was a bunch of nutcases or not.

"If you even bothered to access their psychological evaluation files before you opened your mouthplates, you'd see that those poor bots are in a tenuous position as it is! Putting them through a mission like this may very well be the thing that breaks them!" First Aid shouted up at his opponent.

Jetfire ignored the smaller mech's theatrics, staring down at him with his faceplate in shadow. "I assure you, I _did_ review their files and found that, while they are in a tenuous position, they are still stable enough at this present time to handle a tracking mission."

The medic snorted incredulously. "Of course, and that opinion has _nothing_ to do with your attitudes towards Chromia and wanting to serve up some petty revenge for the feud you two have."

"That is hardly the case. I was objective when formulating my opinions of how much longer the femme should be able to function properly, and I stand by what I said. My personal regards of her had nothing to do with it."

"You know as well as I do that she's beginning to crack, no thanks to you! She's in a fragile mental state and it would be best if we didn't play roulette with her health!"

Jetfire raised a hand to his faceplate, rubbing at in irritation. "Must we get into the Chromia debate again? I thought we settle that three arguments ago."

"For Primus sake, Jetfire, do you honestly think it's in that femme's best interest to send her off on a mission that could very well kill her and the entire crew of the _Loki_! It's a wonder that ship has gotten has far as it has!"

"If you had listened to the tail end of the conversation without overreacting, then you would have heard Prowl stating that they are operating _fine_ as a whole," Jetfire intoned mulishly.

"Don't you think that evaluation may be a little skewed when the mech that it's coming from is two glitches away from a complete meltdown?" First Aid exclaimed. "You know what condition Prowl's in! I've read your reports on his mental state; you can't very well say that he's in his right mind to be judging anyone else when he's probably just as bad!"

Unable to deny the claim without calling himself hypocrite, Jetfire remained silent, glaring. First Aid glared back, looking a little too much like Ratchet for anyone's comfort; the pressures of the continuing war certainly seemed to be bringing out the Ratchet-temper in the young medic.

Ultra Magnus found himself internally groaning at the prospect of trying to get between the two mechs. They didn't look like they were anywhere _near_ finished with each other, but if he didn't get rid of them soon he was going to end up fritzing at them both.

Unaware of the commander's internal state, First Aid continued on his litany. "You and I have seen the mech's records; we both know he was a pre-program for the tactical division of Security Response before the war. It doesn't take a genius to know that they didn't program their tactical mechs with emotions; Prowl's always been in a delicate situation because of that. He's obviously never grasped emotional management. Even with the emotional dampening programs we all have installed to combat the effects of this war, Prowl is not capable of handling even the dampened emotions. He's relatively fine when he's fully recharged and at full operating capacity, but at the moment, he's stretching himself too thin."

"You don't give him enough credit," Jetfire huffed.

First Aid drew back, insulted. "No, I'm objectively basing my medical opinions on hard evidence gathered from the mech's psychological evaluation profiles, unlike _you_," he pointed an accusing finger upwards, "who allowed his personal agendas against a femme to colour his advice, which invariably effects the crew she's with!" The medic was on a roll now. "If anything is going to make Prowl snap, it's being trapped on that vessel. I don't even want to consider the additional frustration added by the twins, both of whose sanity is questionable at best!" His hand flapped in the air, a frustrated sigh rattling out his vents. "Notwithstanding poor Arcee, who is absolutely defenceless and at the mercy of an ill-equipped ship and its deteriorating crew, while facing the horrendous possibilities of a flare-up in the middle of nowhere. Need I go on?"

"With the theatrics?"

First Aid's optics narrowed. "Now you're being contentious."

"And here I thought we were having a delightful conversation full of witty banter." This was not at all the sweet, charming Jetfire that most were acquainted with; this was a harder side to him that he left buried most of the time, a remnant of his short time with the Decepticons.

"If that's what you believe, perhaps you should have your psychological profile re-evaluated."

"Even if I had to, I wouldn't get it done by you. At the rate you're going, you'd probably label me as unfit for duty before I even sat down."

"Only if there was medical evidence to back me up." The medic crossed his arms tightly over his chest, scowling darkly. "Now, are we done hashing this out or is the mental stability of the _Loki_ still in question?"

Jetfire cocked his head, too stubborn to forfeit the argument, so he went for sarcasm instead. "I don't think you've done _nearly_ enough justice for the twins."

"You want to hear my opinions on those two creatures? _Fine._" the medic snapped waspishly.

'_Please, no,' _Ultra Magnus groaned to himself, dropping his head to his desk. The muted thump was scarcely heard as First Aid geared up for another spiel, Jetfire's obstinate attention zeroed in on the Protectobot.

"In my medical opinion, _Sunstreaker_ is an utter sociopath who should be seeking professional help instead of being indulged as an Autobot warrior. From the very orn he joined the Autobots, he's shown a disturbing lack of empathy, remorse, and guilt; his conduct on the battlefield is cruel at best, grotesque at worse. He's a hair-trigger berserker; letting him loose in battle only serves to feed his instability. Primus only knows if it's from his bond with Sideswipe or by his own will that he's been able to hold it together for so long, even in the thin manner that he does. It's only a matter of time before something sets him off and he attacks his own faction, in which case he will have to be subdued and forcibly treated- possibly reprogrammed!"

"Is that, perhaps, a little subjective?" Jetfire needled.

"_Hardly,"_ the medic growled. "Were you any type of certified functional medic, you too would have the same opinions. I'm hardly alone in this matter."

"And yet it seems negligent of your medical duties to leave such a dangerous mech untreated for so long."

"He can't very well treat be treated if he's off chasing the tail of some Mastermind fiend," First Aid snapped. "As much as I hate to say it, _Sideswipe_ is probably the sanest mech aboard the _Loki_!"

"_Primus forbid,"_ sighed a gravelly voice, causing the jet and Protectobot to startle. They jerked in the direction of the groan, only to be forcibly reminded that they were still in Ultra Magnus's office, with said mech faceplate-down amongst his numerous data pads.

The awkward silence that ensued was enough for Ultra Magnus to peer up at First Aid and the leg he stood next to, since the commander couldn't summon enough energy to look all the way up at Jetfire. He couldn't be sure of what expression he was wearing, but it was obviously making First Aid uncomfortable while he stared the medic down. Feeling the need to let the two squirm for a little bit, he didn't relent, satisfied when the medic and scientist shifted uncomfortably on the their feet, waiting for the commander to say something.

When it became obvious that he wasn't going to say anything, First Aid took the initiative, straightening up and presenting himself to Ultra Magnus like he should have when he first arrived. "Um, sir…" he held out a single, small data pad. "Here's the inventory of our medical supplies."

That was it? The medical supplies inventory? _That_ was the reason First Aid had come by in the first place?

It was a few astroseconds before Ultra Magnus bothered to move. He stared for a while until the poor mech was _really_ squirming, systems revving quietly with the discomfort. Blinking slowly, the commander reached out to pluck the data pad from the medic's hands. He skimmed through it without taking in a byte of information.

It was another breem or two before he looked up again, opening his mouthplates and stating flatly, "Get out."

"Sir?" First Aid intoned questioningly.

The commander held up a hand to silence him. "No, don't."

"Ultra Magnus-?" Jetfire began, only to be cut off when the mech's head tilted back dangerously far to meet his gaze.

The poor mech was exhausted, frustrated, and after what he'd just been forced to listen to, there really weren't any words he had to say to the scientist, so all he bothered to say was, "Just get out."

Thankfully, both mechs were eager to comply, filing out of the office quickly. In their wake, Ultra Magnus was left sitting at his desk, utterly exhausted from the effort it took to endure that pair bickering. It felt like, more often than not, he was acting as a Caretaker to a Youth Sector mediating between two errant younglings rather than a respected commander of the Autobot forces.

Scrubbing his faceplate tiredly, the mech sighed. "I can't deal with this anymore."

* * *

For what felt like the hundredth time that orn, Nightbeat checked the shield harmonics of his ship, finding nothing wrong with them. Resolutely turning back to his puzzles for a few breems of distraction, he repeated the action merely seven breems later, checking and rechecking the harmonics.

His processor, understandably, was elsewhere. Distracted. Nervous. Moving several thoughts ahead of what he could comprehend at a time.

He could hardly focus on his usual puzzles, which, on a normal orn, could keep him occupied for joors time. His normal refuge in the many mysteries he surrounded himself with were only a vague haze as his processor floated elsewhere. He could barely keep his focus for more than a few astroseconds. It was frustrating and disorientating at the same time, and he knew he could do nothing about it.

"They've thought I was crazy for vorns, and yet I'm only starting to lose it now," he sighed, checking the shield harmonics again. Self-deprecating laughter murmured quietly off the walls of the ship. He adjusted the frequency to compensate for a small distortion, and then, on a whim, checked the sensor readouts for anything could be possibly be a Decepticon ship in disguise. When nothing of any great concern caught his optic, he pushed away from the console, backing into the rear of the small stealth-class ship where his recharge quarters/work station could be found.

Maybe if he distanced himself from the ship controls, it would help to curb his growing OCD habits.

He stood awkwardly on the threshold, unsure of exactly what he could do. Consulting his chronometer, he realized how much time had slipped by since he'd sent his last transmission to Ultra Magnus; two orns. He realized how little time he had left to prepare before the _Double-cross_ came to take him.

"I should wipe this place down before they come," he murmured to himself, eyeing the piles of incriminating evidence that littered the room. Even encrypted as it was, the information could still be dangerous if put into the wrong hands. "Can't waste precious time; got to clean up before they come."

He waded into the room carefully, scarcely able to make out any of the sparse furniture in the room. His berth had long since been buried beneath heaps of data pads filled with possible conspiracies and half-brained puzzle pieces. The walls were layered with charts, with notes, with possibilities of things that only Nightbeat seemed to find great importance in. Even the floor was littered with scribbled glyphs, written in layered, swirling patterns that, perhaps, may have looked like eccentric art to the untrained optic, but was, in fact, the ravings of an epiphany Nightbeat had had one night.

To any normal mech, it would have all seemed gibberish, but to him, the greatest importance laid in every scrap of data. There was a great mystery in _everything_; a connection; a pattern. All his life, it felt like he'd been chasing ghosts, reaching out to something no one else was able to comprehend; when others were content with the universe as it was, Nightbeat was constantly questioning. It made him a good Special Ops agent. Unfortunately, it also made him a chronically paranoid mech.

Deciding he should start with the most sensitive of his accumulated information, the mech started on the mess taking up residence over his desk and surrounding area. What had first been just a few stray data pads here and there had quickly become a hostile take over as reports of disappearances filtered in and Nightbeat's knowledge of the Mastermind's machinations increased. Notes were scribbled here and there, Cybertronian glyphs decorating the backs of data pads, scattered star charts, along the walls. Everything whispered of Mastermind. Even as Nightbeat recharged, the information covering his desk spoke to him, murmuring things in his audio receptors about possibilities, connections.

He knew everything there was to know about Mastermind. His life for the last few vorns had been devoted to nothing but hunting him.

Slowly, methodically, Nightbeat began his clean up. He took up the nearest data pad, one that contained the complete list of Mastermind's victims, their allegiance, where they were taken, and how long they've been gone, and in an almost religious manner, he wiped the information clean.

He picked up the next data pad and did the same, repeating the action until every data pad lay empty and hollow. For the ones with glyphs decorating their outsides, he methodically scraped and scrubbed them away, taking his time to touch every inch of the surface, erasing everything. It didn't bother him that he was deleting vorns worth of his work; it was all memorized anyways.

From the Mastermind data, he moved on to the accumulated lists of probable death-merchants and the ships they crewed. He knew each one by spark; their operating routes, the usual goods they carried, the bots they interacted with and the establishments they frequented. Memorized; every line of code, every scribbled Cybertronian glyph, every designation, every byte of information. He knew these mechs as if they were his most intimate friends.

Feeling strangely nostalgic, Nightbeat glanced down at the data pad he was preparing to erase; how appropriate.

_**Double-cross:**__ Decepticon merchant ship.  
__**Captain:** Swindle.  
__**Crew**__: Onslaught, Vortex, Blast Off, Detour, Whisper, and Counterpunch.  
__**Notes of interest**__: The Combaticon team; Onslaught, Vortex, Blast Off, and Swindle are on board. Combaticon member Brawl is unaccounted for. Double agent Punch, alias Counterpunch, is serving on board.  
__**Allegations:**__ Suspected of trafficking illegal merchandise and the kidnapping of Cybertronian bots for transport into Mastermind's custody for unknown purposes. _

If Nightbeat had anything to do with it, he was going to find out what the purpose behind all this was and he was going to put a stop to it.

Finishing with the lists of death-merchants, the Special Ops agent moved on to the star charts, staring at the hundreds of flight patterns crisscrossing over countless galaxies, threading through the universe like some congested, incongruent web. He reached out to touch a particular map, his fingers ghosting over marked paths made by a mercenary ship called the _Two-face_. As the path intersected with another ship's course, the _Deadzone_'s, he diverted to the new path and followed it until it met a new one, this one made by the _Darksyde_. He crisscrossed across the entire chart until he'd traced every marked path, following the twisted web across the stars with a single minded purpose. And then he followed his fingers to the other maps, tracing them, as well.

Something whispered to him as he did so, something quiet and knowing, half formed in the recesses of his processor as he tracked the aimless courses of ships through the universe:

_There's a pattern. _

His fingers froze. It took a moment to process the words.

_There's a pattern._

He nodded absently, unafraid to be hearing disembodied voices.

He knew the whisper well, like the voice of a life long friend. It spoke to him often, like now, tugging his consciousness in directions that he himself never would have realized on his own. This whispered voice, his _instinct_, never steered him wrong when it came to things like this. It simply _knew_ things before his conscious did. He'd be damned to ignore it now.

_There's a pattern. Look for it. Find it. _

As it whispered louder, Nightbeat did as he was bid. He searched for the pattern that hung ephemerally beyond his grasp. He let every other sense fade away as his world narrowed to the star charts and the whispers guiding me.

_A pattern. Find the pattern._

He found himself laying out a new chart along the floor, empty and frowning up at him. He stared at the blank sheet for a long time, studying the patterns of the stars and galaxies. The grand mystery of the universe itself; the one mystery he would never begin to comprehend. But his whispering instinct drove him to action, bringing him to his knees at the edge of the chart with a marker in hand. A ribbon of colour grew out across the stars, curling and dancing as he bid it in the wake of the marker; every path the _Double-cross _had ever flown. And then another ribbon of colour splashed across the 2-demensional universe, the flight paths of the _Tartarus_, followed by the _Two-face_, the _Kakkaross_, the _Darksyde_, the _Deadzone_… One ship after the other…

When he was done with one path, he threw his marker away and started on a new one, crisscrossing the ribbons into a rainbow. He did it until he had no idea how much time had passed and the star chart beneath him was so full that the chart itself could scarcely be seen anymore.

Nightbeat pushed himself to his feet to stand back and stare at his work. There was still work to be done. He laid out the puzzle pieces, now he had to put the puzzle together.

_You stared at these charts for vorns. You know there's a pattern. Connect the dots. _

He stared hard, trying to decipher the mystery.

_Everything in the universe is connected. _

He knew everything was connected. All he had to figure out was _how_.

_That's easy. Just look harder!_

His existence shrunk down to this moment in time. Never had the whispers been this loud before.

_You can see it! It's right in front of you! Open your optics!_

He saw it for only a single frozen moment. Time stuttered, skipped a beat, and then he saw it laid out before him in such perfect clarity that it made his spark ache.

_There it is! _

He dropped to his knees, crawling over the chart to where the threads of the great web zeroed in, all flying around the region, and yet never through. They stopped on the very outskirts. They curved around it, only close enough to brush the boundaries. It was as if all the currents of the universe formed a great whirlpool around this point, surrounded by thousands of ships, and yet the center was devoid of anything. As if the universe was avoiding whatever was within.

_This is it! This is the pattern! _

Nightbeat sat dumbstruck in the center of his charts, staring. He could see it now. All this time, the answer had been right in front of him, staring him in the faceplate.

It was impossible to deny what he had found. He'd found the lair of the Mastermind.

_Beta Zen _

A long, low whistle erupted from just behind Nightbeat, above his shoulder, causing the Special Ops mech to startle, his arm transforming into a pulse gun before he had time to register the signature behind him as Autobot.

Surprised by the greeting, Dealer jumped away from the gun with a yelp. "Whoa there! Just me, Nightbeat!"

Nightbeat hesitated, and then relented, letting his arm transform back. "Dealer?" he murmured confusedly, more to himself than the mech.

"Yeah, it's me, you crazy mech," the bright-blue Autobot chirped, unperturbed by Nightbeat's confusion. "For an astrosecond there, I really thought you were going to shoot me!"

"I was," Nightbeat replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. He shook his previous confusion away and managed to stand up without crinkling his charts. He eyed the newly appeared Autobot carefully. "Ultra Magnus didn't send you," he surmised. It wasn't a question, it was a fact.

Dealer did nothing to deny the claim. He shrugged and continued to bounce on his feet, peering over curiously at Nightbeat's work on the floor.

"How did you find me?" Nightbeat pressed, moving to shield the star charts.

"Funny story about that, really..." Dealer laughed, finally backing off and waltzing into the main control area of the ship. Nightbeat followed close behind.

"Care to share?"

"I thought you liked mysteries?'

Less than entertained by Dealer's evasion, Nightbeat stared flatly until the cheery Autobot relented.

"Fine, fine, have it your way," he sighed, flapping a hand in the air. "I'll have you know I was having quite a good swim out there when I came faceplate to faceplate with your hull." He pointed stubbornly to the noticeable scuff mark decorating the rounded crests arcing from his forehead. "Your cloaks are still active, so I had no idea you were there until I ran into you. It hurt, too, and scared the spark out of me."

Nightbeat nodded slowly, staring Dealer down without bothering to blink. "You were just swimming?" he questioned.

"Yeah, backstroke. I can never get the breaststroke right."

"I…see." he blinked once. "_Just_ swimming?"

"What else would I be doing?" the Autobot chirped.

Nightbeat shrugged. Dealer was notorious amongst the Autobots for getting kicked off ships after pushing the crew to their breaking points. It was common enough to find Dealer swimming around in space that idea of him swimming around this region didn't seem suspicious to Nightbeat. Instead, the mech turned his attentions to _how_ Dealer got on the ship.

Dealer seemed to be reading the other mech's mind, twiddling his thumbs innocently as he asked, "You're wondering how I got on board, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Would you believe me if I said I have a couple tricks hidden in my subspace pockets?"

"Perhaps. Everyone's entitled to their own secrets." Nightbeat new enough about mechs and their secrets to know that even a half-bit like Dealer could have a few. There was a strangeness about the mech that sometimes bothered Nightbeat, a secret that seemed to bob beneath the surface. Sometimes, like now, he wasn't always sure who was looking back when he looked into Dealer's optics.

There was an awkward beat between the two mechs as neither had anything to say, until the console gave a muted chirp, which Dealer answered immediately. The view screen lit up as Punch materialized, looking drawned and harried.

"Punch," Nightbeat greeted with a nod. His fellow Special Ops agent did not return the gesture, his faceplate anxious as he peered over his shoulder, leaning close to the colsole so they could hear him as he whispered.

"_Nightbeat, you better get ready. They're coming for you now."_

"I'll be ready as soon as I get rid of my guest," the mech replied, jerking his head in Dealer's direction.

Punch paused, dropping his optics to the sky-blue mech grinning back at him. _"Dealer?"_

"Howdy, buddy!"

Punch's faceplate marred with an instant frown. "_Are you crazy?_ _What are you doing there?"_

"Paying back a favour."

_"Paying back a-?"_ Punch growled furiously, shaking his head. "_Dealer, get off that ship right now! This is no time for your stupid games!" _

Dealer smiled broadly, his fingers skimming over the control panel lightly. "Not until I've done what I came here to do."

"_Dealer-!"_

"Thanks for the warning, Punch. Bye-bye now!" He closed the channel before Punch had time to object.

Nightbeat scowled darkly, the familiar voice in his head now whispering to him again. Seeing Punch made a terrible, horriful, impossible idea crawl into his head, making the whispers hiss in his audio receptios. All those strange anomalies around Dealer suddenly started to make sense…

"What did you come here to do, Dealer?" the Special Ops mech asked carefully, staring hard at the mech's back.

Dealer chuckled, taking his time turning around. "I came to give you something," he said, but the cheeriness in his voice was fake now.

"Why?"

Dealer tipped his head, his smile annoyingly wide across his faceplate. "It's like I said, I'm paying back a favour."

"You don't owe me anything," Nightbeat pointed out.

"I never said the favour was to you," Dealer snorted.

Nightbeat didn't stop the mech as he approached. A sky-blue hand reached out, brushing along the ridges of Nightbeat's chassis, with his other hand, he reached into his subspace pocket and pulled out the tiniest transmitter either mech had ever seen. Nothing was said as it was fixed into a hidden crevice along the underside of Nightbeat's armor, fastened there carefully and activated.

"This isn't Autobot design," Nightbeat finally said as Dealer pulled away.

"No, it isn't," the mech replied nonchalantly. He obviously already knew it wasn't Autobot design.

"Should I ask how you managed to get your hands on technology like this, or would I rather not know?" Nightbeat said.

Dealer offered a crooked smile. "Ignorance is bliss sometimes."

Nightbeat nodded, laying aside that mystery for now. Dealer backed off, assessing his work to make sure the transmittered was hidden, and then leaned back against the control panel, keeping a solid distance between himself and Nightbeat. He let the Special Ops agent mull over the device now imparted to him, watching with smirking optics as he laid a hand over the small device now hidden on his person.

"What do I need a transmitter for?" the mech asked cautiously.

"Where you're going, they won't be able to track you." Dealer replied, unable to hide the haunted look that crossed his faceplate. "Once He has you, you disappear. For good. There's no going back once you're in his territory." A darkness crept into Dealer's optics, his paintjob seemingly reflecting the shadow, but the instant Nightbeat blinked, the shadows were gone. "This transmitter is set to a similar frequency as his. It'll enable any Autobot vessel to track you into his territory."

Nightbeat's faceplate firmed into a cool mask. "How do you know all this?" he asked. Dealer shrugged teasingly, grinning so broadly it looked at if his faceplate would crack. The nagging of Nightbeat's internal voice got louder, tugging him further in one direction. The exchange with Punch. "You're like Punch, aren't you?" he suddenly asked, noting the brief flash that crossed the other mech's faceplate. "You're like him, but… different."

"You can certainly say I'm _different_."

"A Decepticon double agent," Nightbeat concluded. Dealer's mocking applause confirmed the guess. "Why haven't you shot me by now?"

"Well, I'm all Autobot right now, and Autobots don't go around shooting Autobots, as far as I know." He chcukled to himself. "That's why I'm helping you... my other self- he wouldn't be so willing, if you catch my drift. But, he understands that this is for Punch, to help him, so we're doing it regardless." Dealer opened his arms wide, presenting himself in full to Nightbeat. "You have nothing to fear from me."

A disgusted snort rattled Nightbeat's vents. "I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out."

"Give yourself credit. At least you figured it out at all."

"It all seems so obvious now! There were so many things about you that couldn't be explained- like your disappearances… you'd get kicked off a ship somewhere and turn up in another region a couple orns later. No mech swims that fast." His processor was running a few thoughts ahead of him, Dealer's disappearances suddenly being compared to a list a kidnappings. "And every time you disappeared, another bot was kidnapped."

"What can I say? I like to double-deal sometimes. It's a lucrative business." He input something into the controls, and a moment later, the ship depressurized and the hatch dropped open. "In any case, I've done what I came here to do. I'm out of here." He breezed passed Nightbeat, only to pause in the arch of the hatch when he sensed a gun pointed in his direction.

"Now that I know what you are, I shouldn't let you leave here alive," Nightbeat said darkly.

Dealer glanced back, laughing freely. "You don't have much of a choice, Autobot. The _Double-cross_ will be here any breem now."

"To take me to Beta Zen-," It was Nightbeat's turn to smirk when Dealer looked mildly surprised, "Yeah, I know about Beta Zen." With a disgusted sigh, he lowered his gun and let his arm shift back. "What I'm wondering is why tell me all this? Why give me a transmitter and then let me figure out what you are? Isn't letting me live a little counterintuitive?"

Dealer laughed a little more, his optics glinting. "I'm paying back Punch for saving my aft on Chaar, that's all. That transmitter I gave you, it cost me more than you can ever imagine, but it's only going to work until _He_ finds it on you." He let his frame be pulled out into space, floating in the hatchway like some bad omen. "As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter if you know what I am or not, you're a dead mech no matter what."

The revelation shocked Nightbeat enough to let him drop his guard, allowing Dealer to float off, swimming a distance away before his paint darkened and his signature shifted from that of an Autobot. The Decepticon had the audacity to glance back and jerk a wave in the Autobot's direction before his holographic imagers activated and he disappeared. Unable to find words to fill the void, the Autobot allowed the hatch to seal on its own and wandered back to his star chart, which lay crumpled and forgotten on the floor. He lowered himself to sit on the floor at the map's corner, gently picking it up and beginning to tear it into delicate strips. He watched the destruction of his finest puzzle with fond, distant optics.

_A dead mech no matter what _

He was part of the pattern now. Or maybe he always was… He couldn't decide which appealed to him most. It didn't really matter, anyways.

There was no time to send out an encrypted message to anyone to let them know of what he'd discovered. All he could do was wait for the _Double-cross_ to come. No sense in keeping incriminating evidence lying around.

When he set fire to the charts, it was strangely comforting.

_You're part of the pattern now. Someone else has to figure out the connections._

He nodded resignedly to the whisper in his head, his only company in his last moments of freedom. Even as an alert sprang up to let him know of the _Double-cross_'s approach, Nightbeat found his thoughts elsewhere, distracted, hoping there was another mech out there able to connect the dots.


	19. Little Bastard

Well…. Here's chapter 19! I suppose everyone is starting to notice the immensely slow climb of the plot, and I really do apologize if I'm boring the pants off of you. I'm trying to keep things interesting for you all, but the plot is so convoluted that a slow climb is practically inevitable now. I'm so sorry to anyone seeking instant gratification through action-packed sequences interspersed with spark-sex/interfacing- that may not occur for a while. BUT, there will be sex and action soon enough! …I hope.

Since reviews seem to be wavering nowadays, with school in full swing and everyone busy with their lives, I just want to take the opportunity to say how very grateful I am to the handful of readers who have taken the time to write out a few kind words in a review. I truly value each review I get is a bright spot to my day. They truly are the fuel that keeps me writing for this genre. To each of you- **Jason M. Lee, Litahatchee, Elita One, theshadowcat, Flameshield, Bluebird Soaring, Bunnylass, Silveriss, Lecidre**, and **Chloo**- thank you so much for your continued support! You've all been too wonderful too me!

Special thanks to **Litahatchee** for reading this beforehand! I know I said I'd attempt editing myself, and hopefully I did I half-descent job! And thank you to **Lady Tecuma**, who valiantly went back to the beginning and reviewed two chapters at once! Much love to the both of you!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Simmons is a Weaselling Little Bastard**

_Run! Run Faster! Don't Get Stepped On! Just Run Dammit!_

Adrenaline burned like venom in his veins as he pushed his body to its limits. His lungs were scorched and his throat left so dry it felt like sandpaper, scraping raw every time he took a breath. The effort of breathing in oxygen made him dizzy. His eyes were starting to water. He could hardly see straight anymore.

_Just keep going! Keep Running! Don't stop!_

The wide streets held no impediments. Stray humans braced themselves in hiding, cleared from the streets in fear of getting stepped on, leaving the roads barren. The pounding vibrations were getting closer, huge metal feet driving into the ground in a deafening death-song. The minor earthquakes that erupted in the wake of the giant threw the pursued human off balance, causing him to stumble, losing a few steps. The giant gained ground, swooping down to grab him in hard metal hands.

"Shit! Oh shit!" Reacting faster than his brain could register, he ducked and weaved between the grasping fingers and shot off again, zooming ahead of his pursuer. His tiny organic legs worked at maximum capacity to push him onward, but the prolonged strain was beginning to take its toll. He was slowing. Pain laced every movement. The metallic taste of blood bloomed in his mouth from where he'd bitten his tongue. Lactic acid was building up in his limbs, making them heavy and useless. His coordination was failing. Adrenaline was starting to dry up.

A flash of red weaved into his periphery. Glowing optics fixed on him.

"Come on, Sam! Run faster! You can do it!"

Unable to form words around his dry tongue, Sam ignored the shout of encouragement and kept up his death-sprint. He swung around a wide corner onto a new road, making a bee line for the largest building on the lane, which just happened to be at the very _end_. He snarled a curse, but kept running.

A sudden screech of Cybertronian lashed the air, causing a cold wash of terror to shoot down Sam's spine. Hearing the alien language sill conjured memories of being chased through Mission City by a towering metal monster. He still heard Megatron's voice at night, in his nightmares; a roar that would rip him from sleep with a scream on his lips, only to find himself drenched in cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably.

Another peel of Cybertronian slapped Sam from his thoughts, urging him to move faster, even as his adversary gained on him by the second.

"You're almost there! The command center's so close!"

On the verge of puking from exhaustion, Sam finally managed enough strength to snarl at the microbot keeping pace with him. "You're not helping!"

Blaster started from the vicious retaliation, veering to the side. He'd been shadowing Sam since the beginning of the death-race, happily shouting encouragement when he thought it appropriate.

As they neared the command center, the looming doors hissed open, breathing cool air out into the blazing streets. Launching into the building, Sam lost traction on the metal floor, flying off his feet with a yell. In a single, heart-stopping moment, he found himself airborne and weightless.

Before his brain could register that he was falling, his hands shot out on reflex to catch himself. Suddenly, he felt his body coiling as if in slow motion, the muscles of his arms tensing, bracing his weight as they took the force of the impact, and then thrusting his body upwards, propelling him up and over himself, all in one fluid motion. He landed on his feet breathlessly, wobbled, and then swore prolifically. How freaking _awesome_ was that?! A perfect front-flip!

Unable to take the time to properly gloat, Sam screeched as his adversary crashed into the long hall of the command building. Before he could be caught, the human tore up the corridor like hell was on his heels.

Blaster was already ahead of him, waving urgently into the small doorway built into the wall. "In here!" he yelled before shooting up the flight of steps himself.

Without a second thought, Sam veered onto the stairs, launching up them three at a time. He crested the balcony in a rush, tripping over the last step and catching himself hard against the wall. The three assembled humans already on the balcony glanced up in surprise, startled as Sam stumbled forward, wild-eyed, before collapsing facedown on the cool metal floor.

Epps glanced to Will, a single eyebrow raised in question. "Track?"

Will nodded with an amused half-smile. "Track."

"Might as well roll the kid over," the tech sergeant sighed. He wandered over to the felled boy, wedging his foot under Sam's side and heaving the limp body over. Other than a sickly groan, Sam didn't even bother to complain.

Blaster leaned over the railing as Bumblebee sidled into the room. The scout didn't even look phased from his pleasant run. "How was his time this time?" the microbot crowed.

"One minute and 11 seconds faster than his last run," the scout happily replied.

Sam gurgled something, flapping an arm weakly. By now used to the unholy training regiment the teen was forcing himself to undergo, his fellow humans knew instantly what he was asking for; Maggie swung her satchel off her shoulder and pulled out a bottle of water, crouching down and handing it to him. She patted his sweaty head while he guzzled the water.

"You're getting better," she said warmly.

"Not good enough," Sam grunted, and then went back to the water.

She rolled her eyes, looking back at Will and Epps as if it were their fault the boy was pushing himself so hard. When they raised their hands in silent defence to ward the woman's glare off, she sighed and turned her attention back to Sam. "At this rate, you'll kill yourself before you think you're good enough."

Sam said nothing, diverting his gaze to the floor. He knew he was trying too hard. That didn't stop him from trying harder. Thankfully, Bumblebee came to his aid before Maggie could nag him further, reaching over the ledge of the balcony to pluck Sam up, depositing him on his shoulder.

"You have nothing you worry about, Maggie. Whenever Sam requests that I help him train for track, I keep a sensor lock on him to make sure that he's not pushing himself beyond the bounds of human endurance," he assured, smiling an alien smile.

Maggie rolled her eyes, wandering back over to the couch she'd previously been perched on. "I just don't see the point in having you chase him through the base when there's a perfectly good track built into the human sector. At least if he runs on that, he isn't at risk of getting stepped on."

Bumblebee twittered in a way that gave the impression of a human chuckle. "Chasing him across base may not seem like the most effective training option, but it has already proven successful in improving Sam's endurance and agility. He has gotten quite a bit faster since we've begun these sessions, despite the impediment of weight gain due to his increase of muscle mass from the training regiment. I'm impressed by his progress, to say the least."

Sam mumbled something incoherent from Bumblebee's shoulder, but it was too muffled to be understood.

The data analyst looked less than impressed with both Sam and Bumblebee, and even less impressed with the other males in the vicinity who seemed to think that the risk of getting smeared into the ground was worth it to be a little faster.

Blaster sauntered over to the couch and threw himself down, nearly buckling the poor piece of furniture with his weight. He grinned and flung an arm over Maggie's shoulder in a way similar to how he'd seen Epps do it a few times. "You don't even have ta worry about Sam getting stepped on, Mags," he said, tipping his bright red head. "Sam's safer getting' chased by one o' us than he is getting' chased by a human."

"I'd love to hear the reasoning behind that," Will laughed, leaning against the balcony railing.

Ratchet interceded to explain, "We have proximal sensors built into our persons that enable us to be aware of our surroundings at all times." The medic gestured vaguely to the other Autobots. "The sensors are specially tuned to recognize spark resonances and identify who and where they are, so when another Cybertronian is in the vicinity, especially one around Blaster's stature, we are able to avoid him. If he's underfoot, we either skip a step or pause to let him go by."

Blaster leaned against Maggie's side, his smooth armor cool against her skin. "I've only been stepped on three times in my entire life," he announced, holding up the two long fingers of his right hand and one long finger of his left to indicate the number 3. "Each time was by a 'Con in battle. Under normal circumstances, there's virtually zero chance of a microbot like me getting' stepped on."

"I don't know if any of you have noticed, but _we're_ not Cybertronians," the woman pointed out, her lips pursed. "It's not like any of us have spark resonances for your sensors to pick up; how are we supposed to not get stepped on?"

Ratchet appeared to think her question stupid, rolling his optics in annoyance even as he opened his mouthplates to answer. "You may not have spark resonances, but there are other signs of life you give off that we can adjust our sensors to register. We are able to know where you are at all time and compensate- Oh, for Primus' sake, Blaster, you're crushing her!" With an impatient snort, he reached out and plucked the microbot off the couch and threw him to Optimus' shoulder; Maggie sagged in relief, glad to be free from Blaster's hard weight. She waved to the medic to continue.

With a nod, Ratchet went on. "In contrast, human reactions are not necessarily as quick; you're far more likely to run someone over than we are. Sam is perfectly safe with Bumblebee assisting him, unless, of course, Bumblebee _wanted _to step on Sam." By Bumblebee's offended look, he obviously had no future plans of stepping on Sam.

"You know, that would have been helpful to know a couple months ago," Epps pointed out, flopping down in Blaster's vacated spot on the battered couch.

"It never occurred to us to have to explain," Optimus reasoned. "It is so much a part of our culture to simply avoid or move bots smaller than ourselves that we applied it to humans without thinking." He made a noise comparative to clearing ones throat. "Well, _most _of us have applied it, anyways."

"Most of you?" Epps repeated questioningly.

Optimus's gaze settled pointedly on Ironhide. "Some of us have yet to adjust our proximal sensors." The weapons specialist merely snorted, looking away stubbornly.

"That explains a lot," Will sighed, shaking his head.

Ironhide grunted, not even deigning it worth his time to respond. There was something so utterly _ridiculous _about helping a human run fast so he could compete against other humans, all of which are running around in a big circle, that the mech didn't even want to _think_ about it. It was just so… _stupid_.

"Can we just get started with the real reason we're all here? This has been a useless waste of time so far," the weapons specialist groused.

Optimus acquiesced to his friend with a nod. "Of course. Since we're mostly all here, I don't see why not."

Will cleared his throat, as ready as anyone to get the real meeting started. "This is about landing schedules, right?" he broached, wandering over to the couch and leaning against the side of it. "Everybody's making their way to Earth now and we need to figure out how to get them all through the atmosphere with less fireworks than the _Uller_."

"No fireworks at all would be preferable," Ratchet clarified.

"Let's not ask for miracles here," Epps reasoned with a shake of his head.

"In light of the discovery of SkyWatch and its persistence despite our attempts to shut it down, future planet falls for my people will have to be more carefully planned in order to be as innocuous as possible," Optimus announced. "Whoever is administering to SkyWatch has shown themselves to be resourceful and surprisingly informed of our movements; if we are to remain anonymous on Earth, we will have to find some way to outsmart these humans before our Neutral counterparts take matters into their own hands."

"Soundwave's crew?" Will questioned.

Optimus's faceplate smoothed into an expression of quiet disapproving. "Yes, Soundwave's crew. I have little authority over them, and our truce is unstable at best. If Soundwave finds SkyWatch to be a continued threat to his faction's existence, he will see to it that the matter is brought to a close in a far more permanent fashion than what we would consider."

By the distaste in Optimus's voice, Soundwave's 'more permanent' solution obviously meant making greasy stains in the ground out of whoever was responsible for the site. That option, while appealing to perhaps only Ironhide, did nothing but repulse the other Autobots and humans present.

"We need to eliminate this problem as soon as possible before something more incriminating appears on the site. If we decommissioned them in a more permanent manner, we wouldn't have to deal with this slag," Ironhide huffed.

"SkyWatch is a human problem," Sam suddenly pointed out. When Ironhide glared at him, he scrambled to explain. "I mean, yeah, they're taking pictures of you guys and posting them on the internet, but they're still just a bunch of humans, right? We should be able to take care of this for you- and- uh, by "we" I mean Will, Epps, all the human personnel, since, you know…" he shrugged up at Optimus, unnerved by that deep stare the commander was fixing him with. "You have enough to deal with getting your people to the planet and trying to figure out when the next wave of Decepticons is going to show up. If us humans are going to be good for something, at least let us take care of our own species."

"He has a valid point," Will reasoned, looking impressed. "Other than acting as seat warmers when you drive, we haven't really done anything useful. What's the point of having us humans around if you're not going to let us help you with anything important?"

"Our troubles are our own. We don't need to involve your species any further," Ironhide huffed.

"If you haven't noticed, we're as involved as we can get. You're using _our_ planet as ground zero for your war," Will countered. "Plus, the people who are responsible for SkyWatch are presumably human, so _technically_ you're not getting us involved, we're getting you involved."

A deep, rumbling growl emanated from within Ironhide's chassis, his deep-set optics narrowing.

Will refused to back down to the giant. "We've already got Mags and Glen hacking the site to triangulate where they're transmitting from, so why not just give us the whole case? Let us take care of SkyWatch, and if we need your help, we'll ask."

Optimus, unlike Ironhide, seemed to take to the idea with sincere interest. "Very well, since you seem to have such a vested interest in it now, SkyWatch is yours. Blaster will be at your disposal should his services he needed. I know that Soundwave is also keeping an optic on the site and it would be best if I was kept informed of any new developments in order to prevent him from taking action, so if anything pertinent turns up-."

"You got it, Optimus. We'll keep you in the loop," Will nodded, holding out his hand to seal the deal. Optimus smiled at the gesture, always amused when a human offered his or her hand to him. To satisfy the custom, the Autobot simply stretched out a finger and touched it to Will's palm, shaking minutely.

Ratchet waited until Optimus pulled back to broach the next topic of the meeting. "Now that it's been arranged that SkyWatch is now a concern for our human allies, may we get back to the main issue at hand: _scheduling_?"

"Our planet ain't _that_ small. There's gotta be some place to let you guys land without making headline news," Epps said.

Bumblebee perked up as an idea struck him. "Why don't we spread out the landing geographically, and not just chronologically," he offered. "With Blaster and _Uller_, as well as you three and Jazz, you all landed in close approximation to each other, around Tranquility and the Nevadan Desert. I think we need more variety in landing sites in order to obscure the frequency of planet falls."

"We're talking beyond state borders, aren't we?" Will intoned.

"I believe Bumblebee is referring to beyond _country_ borders," Optimus informed.

"We're going international, huh?" the captain laughed, just as Sam muttered an enthusiastic "_road trip!"_ into Bumblebee's audio receptor, to which the scout chirped a laugh and nodded.

"It would appear that 'going international' would be our best option," Optimus replied. "As Bumblebee pointed out, spreading out our planet falls over considerable distances would make us less obvious than if we were to concentrate in one spot. And, if I am to understand the information on the World Wide Web correctly, there are still quite a few remote areas on Earth that would enable us to make discreet landings."

Maggie was already clattering away at her laptop, taking inventory of Earth's most remote regions. Even as she searched, she spoke. "If this is going to be our plan, we're going to have to get in touch with the UN again and try to work something out. Not only will we have to get permission from the countries we'll be landing in, but we will either have to work out an agreement with the governments to allow the US army or a delegation of Cybertronians to go in and pick up the newly landed bot, or have that government transport the Cybertronian to US soil."

"Couldn't the bot just drive here?" Sam asked.

"If they landed in either South America or somewhere in Canada, driving here would be no problem, but traversing water might be problematic to any Autobot not landing on the North American/South American continents. I doubt many Cybertronians are willing to drive along the bottom of the ocean to get here," Maggie said. "In any case, if the bot in question isn't able to fly or swim on his on power, we'll just have to negotiate with some countries to get them here safely."

"I'm sure something can be arranged in due time," Optimus said warmly. "I appreciate the care you have considered for future arrivals on this planet."

"Oh, it's no problem. I'll do my best to set up a meeting with the UN as soon as possible," the analyst replied, a little flustered. Like the other humans, Maggie hadn't even considered the care she was giving to the aliens to be out of the ordinary. Six months was enough time to begin thinking of the Autobots as one of their own.

Optimus nodded, smiling. "Thank you."

Blaster rapped his sharp fingers against his commander's armor, diverting attention to him. "It may be a while before the others start comin'; last I heard, there were only a few on the move so far. It'll be a while before the big groups start haulin' in."

"Hopefully that will give us enough time to plan out a proper landing agreement with other countries," Ratchet said.

"And if not, there are ways we can make them agree," Ironhide intoned ominously. Optimus looked as if he were about to reprimand his friend yet again, but the grimace that crossed the weapons specialist's faceplate revealed the true nature of his particular grumpiness today- he was in pain. His spark must have been bothering him extra badly for him to be pouring this much extra attitude into his input. Instead of saying anything to him, Optimus reached out to Ironhide and gripped his shoulder consolingly. The expression that the mech offered Optimus in return was of barely veiled pain, but also relief knowing the Autobot commander understood.

Blaster suddenly perked up. "Speaking of arrangin' planet falls…" He scrambled down the commander's back and leapt for the control panel, quickly inputting something before the large view screen lit up and revealed two bots, though the picture itself was static-choked and shaky.

One of the bots, a dusty silver-grey creature with protruding crystalline structures jutting out from either side of his head, waved merrily. They couldn't make out his expression from behind the battle mask he sported, but his voice certainly wasn't lacking in enthusiasm.

"_**Long time no see, Ratch'!" **_

Ratchet's surprise was obvious. _**"Wheeljack?"**_

"_**Yeah, it's me!"**_ Wheeljack crowed. There was a strange 'meep meep' sound off camera that echoed the mech's words. _**"Sorry I can't see ya right now, but this is pretty much a one-way visual transmission- I got no screen out here to see how yer doing."**_

"**That's quite alright, Wheeljack. You'll see us soon enough when you make planet fall,"** Optimus cut in while Ratchet scrambled for something to bluster out.

"_**Right ya are, Optimus! I'll be making it down there just as soon as I get done up here,"**_ the engineer laughed. _**"Sorry fer taking so long, but I kept getting sidetracked- there are so many interesting little things around here. First Beta Zen-," **_which the mech shuddered as he mentioned it, _**"and then all the neat little planets and space junk here. Tungy just wanted to see it all!"**_

The Autobot commander paused for a moment. **"Tungy?"**

**_"Yeah, Tungsten!"_ **

Finally, Ratchet found his words. _**"Tungsten?!"**_ he snorted incredulously. **"You mean that stupid little drone you built?" **

"_**The one and only,"**_ Wheeljack replied, no less cheerful than before. _**"I couldn't just leave him behind. I'd feel so guilty if I did!"**_ Again, a soft 'meep, meep' followed his words.

"**Just so long as you keep a tight reign on it, 'Jack,"** Blaster said with a laugh. **"I can send you coordinates for landing, but things are pretty tight down here and we're trying to keep a low profile, so you gotta promise Tungsten won't get loose. There's only a bit of cloud cover coming in from the north to hide you, but if little Tungy ends up wandering around downtown, it'll create a whole whack of publicity we don't want."**

"_**Oh, I'll keep an optic on the little thing, don't worry,"**_ the engineer assured, flapping his hand nonchalantly.

"**I'll take your word for it,"** Blaster replied, transmitting the indicated coordinates.

As Wheeljack received the transmission, he clapped his hands together and grinned. _**"Wouldn't ya know, I'm right above ya! Lucky me!"**_ he laughed.

Ratchet's optics squinted at the grainy visual, trying to discern the background. **"And where, exactly, are you right now, Wheeljack?"** he demanded.

"_**Just taking a rest on some space junk. Ya wouldn't believe how much Earth's got up here!"**_ Wheeljack replied. His battle mask disengaged to reveal a smiling faceplate and bright, round optics. _**"Earth's got some pretty great stuff up here- thought it'd be interestin' to poke around before I made planet fall." **_

"**There's nothing but primitive scrap metal up there- nothing worth poking at. Stop digging around before you blow something up."** His optics turned to fixate on the smaller bot with Wheeljack, who appeared trapped to the engineer's side under one of his arms. **"Who do you have with you out there? Blaster didn't say you were travelling with anyone."**

"**That's cause he wasn't travelling with anyone, so far as I heard,"** Blaster shrugged.

**_"I met her floating around up here! Friendly thing, she is!"_** He patted the femme's shoulder harder than he meant to, buckling her knees. Whatever was acting as the transmitter for the conversation jumped, and then seemingly began to wander closer. Wheeljack pointed a finger at the screen. _**"No, you stay there, Tungy. She's fine. I didn't get her that hard." **_

There was a quick "meep, meep" and the transmitter, revealed to be none other than Tungsten the drone, backed up to its original spot.

"_**Let me go, you sorry excuse for an experiment gone wrong! I told you- I have better things to do than stick around here rusting on a pile of Earth slag!" **_The femme snarled, attempting to twist away from the engineer. As she turned, she revealed herself to be both Decepticon and flight worthy, if her large wingspan was any indication.

Wheeljack paid her cursing no heed. _**"Says her designation's Nightshade," **_he elaborated happily. _**"She's been off planet for a couple orns cooling off. Says some slag went down planet side and she didn't want to put up with the fragged up bots she was stuck with." **_

"_**Exactly! I was getting **_**away **_**from the fragged up bots! So if you would just let me go, I can get away from one more fragged up bot and his half-bit little squeaking drone!" **_Nightshade seethed, straining under Wheeljack's unrelenting grasp.

Ironhide growled deeply, glowering at the struggled 'Con as she cursed. **"Let her go, Wheeljack,"** he ordered darkly.

Surprised to hear Ironhide's gravelly voice, Wheeljack's gripe instantly released, allowing Nightshade to spit a few more curses and scramble away. She cracked out a few kinks in her wings before transforming and streaking away into space, hissing a venomous **_"You crazy fragger!" _**at Wheeljack.

"**You're aware you just saved a 'Con's life from insurmountable torture by cheerfulness, right?"** Ratchet asked, optic ridge quirked.

"**And you're aware I just saved your friend from catching Primus knows what from that little glitch of a 'Con, right?"** Ironhide replied in kind.

"_**Oh, she was harmless, 'Hide! Sweet little thing like her wouldn't hurt a cyber-fly. She just had a little bit of an attitude, that's all!" **_Wheeljack crowed, clearly unaware of the true dangers Nightshade presented as one of Soundwave's apprentices and as a member of the _Darksyde_ crew. Albeit, even if he did know her true nature, he probably wouldn't have cared; if he was lonely enough to befriend an inanimate object like Tungsten, he clearly wasn't picky on choosing who his friends were.

The weapons specialist rumbled in disgust. He dropped his gaze to Blaster. **"Keep a lock on the 'Con," **he ordered.** "She's fine out there, but if she tries to come back into the atmosphere, let me know. I'll shoot her down." **

"**Should have guessed you wouldn't have saved her out of the goodness of your spark," **Ratchet snorted.

"**You won't be shooting anyone down, Ironhide. We're trying to keep a **_**low**_** profile, remember?" **Optimus admonished. **"If she comes back into the atmosphere, it will be Soundwave's responsibility to see to her." **When Ironhide refused to look chastised, the commander sighed and turned back to the screen. **"If you happen to see Nightshade again before you attempt planet fall tonight, tell her she is still safe to come into the atmosphere."**

"_**Got'cha, Optimus! That'll be the first thing I do if I see her again," **_Wheeljack said, giving a small salute. Suddenly, Tungsten staggered and the image wavered badly.

**"Is everything alright up there, Wheeljack?" **Optimus asked concernedly.

**_"I-oh! Tungy, you poor little thing!" _**The image blinked in and out of blackness, Wheeljack's voice ringing in the speakers.**_ "I'm so sorry! I didn't even think about your feelings! You must be exhausted from all this transmitting you've been doing!" _**There was a warbled "meep, meep" as Wheeljack came rushing forward to catch his little drone, but not before Tungsten managed a spectacular face-plant, the transmission instantly cutting to static.

As Blaster worked to shut off the view screen, Sam cleared his throat pointedly.

"I have no idea what any of you just said, but I'm pretty sure the mech you were just talking to might have a couple screws loose," he said, clearly referring to Wheeljack.

Bumblebee twittered. "Knowing him, that's a definite possibility."

"That mech…" Epps shrugged awkwardly, since he had nothing better to call the new Autobot until an English name was chosen. "He's still landing tonight, isn't he?"

"Yes, he was sent coordinates for just north of Tranquility, not far from here. It's a little close to the outskirts of town, but hopefully the overcast will be enough to hide him," Optimus confirmed.

"Hopefully he doesn't end up… wandering too far from the target landing," Ratchet sighed. "If he's anything like I remember him to be, his curiosity gets the best of him a lot of the time and then he gets into trouble because of it."

"You guys sure do have a lot of quirks," Will laughed.

"We could say the same about your kind," Bumblebee replied in kind.

A quick, sharp whistle sounded just outside the command centre doors; the signal they'd been waiting for to know the coast was clear.

"You may come in now, Mirage," Optimus called. The doors slid open, only to reveal empty space beyond. What _did_ wander into the room was the distinct sound of muted metal footsteps and a strange breeze that brushed in and halted near Ironhide. A minor distortion slanted some of the straight edges found in the room, but other than that, the entering entity was completely unseen.

"I take it someone was listening in on us, right?" Blaster enquired to the empty space near Ironhide's left.

"Yes," Mirage's disembodied voice replied. There was a brief electric hum as the Master Spy's holo-emitters disengaged, Mirage suddenly snapping into existence. The four emitters that floated above the mech's head folded up and zipped into their storage compartments in his shoulders. "He came along shortly after the meeting began."

"Knew it!" Blaster exclaimed with a snap of his fingers. "I knew there had to be someone around here eavesdropping out of sensor range! That's how SkyWatch has been getting all it's info on us!" He laughed proudly at his own cunning. "I bet I know who it is, too!"

Will fixed his gaze on Mirage. "Who was it?"

The Master Spy turned his cool gaze to the human, optics focusing and refocusing carefully. "I identified the eavesdropper as agent Reginald Simmons-."

"That weaselling little bastard!" Sam yelled.

"I so called it!" Blaster cheered.

"Can't say I didn't see it coming," Epps growled sourly. "He's been sneaking around base a lot lately- late night shit I could never pin him for." He locked his arms across his chest tightly. "This is all revenge for demoting him to the base's bitch; he loses his cushy government agent job keeping aliens a secret, so now he's going to leak you guys to the public to get back at everyone."

"It certainly sounds like something a disgruntled Reggie Simmons would do," Maggie reasoned, tight-lipped and frowning.

"Yeah, well, I'll tell you what I'm going to do when I get my hands on him," Epps huffed. "I'm gonna to kick his ass."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Optimus interceded, his gaze turned to Mirage. "There's more to this, isn't there?"

The Master Spy nodded curtly. "Yes. I asked Smokescreen to monitor activity around this sector of the base and it seems he's found quite a few humans moving in certain patterns around the perimeter of the command center that would suggest something more elaborate than coincidence. A choreographed plan is more probable."

"You think more than one involved?" Wills enquired, scowling darkly. It was like a personal affront to him that any one of the humans on base would betray the Autobots like this.

"Perhaps," Mirage replied. "At the moment, we only have limited information on the matter, though Smokescreen is continuing to track the involved humans on the security cameras. Seeing as this matter now falls under your jurisdiction," he nodded pointedly to Will and Epps, "I will forward all information I have gathered on this matter into your hands and allow you to follow through however way you choose."

"If Simmons is guilty, can we lynch him?" Sam snorted, clearly disgruntled with the identity of the eavesdropper.

Will's mouth flattened into a thin line, looking as if he were seriously considering the option, and then shook his head. "We have to prove he's the one behind this first. If the new landing information leaks to SkyWatch, then we may have something to question him on. Until then, we just have to bid our time and keep a low profile." He smirked dryly. "If we _do_ prove it's Reggie behind all this, it's open season on his ass."

"I can't wait," Sam laughed, shooting Bumblebee a particularly devious look. They had all sorts of _fun_ planned for the agent in the future.


	20. Alien Sort Of

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!

I worked like a mad woman to get this all out in time! I know I didn't get my one-shots done for **Lady Tecuma** or **Lecidre,** but I'll try to post them before the New Year! I just had to post something for Come before Christmas! This has been an insanely funny chapter to write, so I hope all of my readers out there enjoy it to the fullest. Laugh and be merry as antics abound on Earth! Please feel the Christmas spirit and leave a review or two! My best and sincerest wishes to you! May love and happiness find you on this wonderful occasion!

My dearest and sincerest thanks goes out to my reviewers of the last chapter; **Bunnylass, Jason M. Lee, Bluebird Soaring, Elita One, Litahatchee, Cute Kitten, Lecidre, Lady Tecuma, theshadowcat, **and **Chloo! **Each and every single one of your reviews is near and dear to my heart! Thanks you so much for your kindness and warmth! You all are simply the best!

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Miles Meets an Alien… Sort Of**

It was… late. Really late. A lateness that was probably going to cause him hell the next day if he was forced to go to school instead of staying home sick with alien-fever. But, the risk was totally worth it in Miles' eyes. There was no way in hell he was taking his eyes off the sky tonight until he saw an alien! A real live freaking alien!

Sucking back his fourth Redbull of the night, unable to see straight anymore because his body was jittering so badly from the mad rush the energy drinks were giving him, Miles gave an involuntary twitch and skittered around his beat up car, flipping open the laptop he'd stolen from his brother earlier. Powering the thing up, SkyWatch's homepage glared brightly into the night, searing the teen's retinas for a moment before he adjusted. He checked the latest post to the site, made by one of SkyWatch's mysterious founders, the hardly ever heard from _"LadyJ_13"_, which had already gotten over a hundred replies from alien fanatics everywhere-

_**-A very reliable source of mine has just revealed that there will be an ***_**actual alien landing**_*** in the desert near the Nevadan town of Tranquility tonight! That's right, a real alien landing! This is not a joke! And this is not a drill! The source I got this from pretty much guarantees there will be some form of UFO coming in through the atmosphere, so look to the north, everyone! Supposedly the alien is going to try to hide in the cloud cover, but don't be fooled! Take pictures if you can!-  
-**__**LadyJ_13 **_

From the moment Miles absorbed the meaning of LadyJ's post, it was if the heavens had opened up and choirs of angels were singing alien-themed songs just for him. There was no question after that of what he had to do.

Practically skipping on air, he'd floated up to the attic to disassemble his telescope, stolen his brother's laptop, grabbed two cases of Redbull from the basement, and threw everything in his cheap-piece-of-crap car. After a brief fight with the transmission to get the stupid Volvo going, the engine finally turned over pitifully. Jiggling with the gears, he managed to coax the car into reverse, sliding out of the driveway and cruising on its way to Miles' ultimate destiny to see an alien.

And so, here he was, Miles Lancaster; conspiracy enthusiast, cult-movie nerd, and soon-to-be alien witness, standing around in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of town, quarter to midnight on a Wednesday night, waiting for his intergalactic destiny to arrive.

Finding the Redbull had taken its toll on his attention span, he suddenly found himself jogging in circles around his car to pass the time. And then, when that wasn't enough to curb his over-energized state, he did a few cartwheels, and then pushups, and finally resorted to trying to remember all the moves he'd learned in ballet as a child when his mother decided she loved him the least of all her children and signed him up for classes. It was right when he was going into his fifth pirouette when a resounding crack in the night startled him. In the span of a single heartbeat, Miles knew what that sign from the heavens meant: he was about to be made the happiest alien-freak on the planet!

Crowing in excitement, Miles leapt for his setup telescope with a ballet-like grace that should have thoroughly disturbed him, but he was too hyped to care. Angling it to the clouds, he raked the overcast sky with fanatical fervor, wiping at his mouth when a string of foamed drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. His heartbeat felt attuned to the series of thundercracks crossed the sky, rattling the clouds.

"Where are you? Where are you?" the teen sang, jittering anxiously in his skin. The tingling sense of excitement saturated his body so entirely that he was left with the distinct feeling of over-energized euphoria and a vague feeling of needing to go pee even though he'd just went on the rocks near by a few minutes before.

A crackling disturbance in the cloud-ceiling drew Miles' eye to the epicenter in time to catch sight of a red-hot object emerging through the clouds and descending at a rapid rate. It was relatively far off, more in the direction of the rock outcropping sitting high on the horizon than where Miles was stationed. That certainly did not detract from the UFO's amazingness.

"_Oh my holy flipping God of awesomeness,"_ Miles murmured. He knew he should have been reaching for his camera, or his cell phone at the least, but he was rooted to the spot. The only thing his brain could scarcely remember to do was to breathe, and even that was slipping. As the UFO cleared the cloud ceiling, it suddenly jerked to the side at a 45 degree angle, dislodging a glowing ember from the main body. The glowing shard caught on a strong air current, whistling away at such a high-pitched frequency that even Miles' human hearing could pick it up.

"That- oh, _shit_. Not good." He backed up a step, then another. He was no physics major, but if playing pool in the basement with Sam had taught him anything it had taught him angels, and the wide angle the offshoot was travelling in was going to take it right up Miles' ass if he didn't move _right now_!

Yelping, he dove for his car, throwing the laptop and telescope in without a second thought. Key jammed into the ignition, the engine roared to life on the first try. Ripping into gear, Miles burnt rubber getting the hell out of the way, shielding his eyes as the UFO fragment passed overhead, crashing in a magnificent shower of dirt and debris.

Sitting dumbstruck the driver's seat, two seconds away from pissing himself, Miles gaped openly for a few minutes before it occurred to him that he had two choices to chose from at that very moment; one, he could get out of the car and make contact with the newly arrived alien, or he could burn rubber home and curl up under his bed pretending this never happened. Since he would probably hate himself for the rest of his life if he chose the latter, he did the former.

Swallowing hard, he slid numbly out of the car, taking a moment to lean against the door until his legs stopped shaking, before inching over to the thing now residing in the crater.

"_Dude, I hope you come in peace,"_ he muttered, wrinkling his nose against the heat radiating into his face. Coming as close as he dared, he stretched onto his tiptoes and craned his neck, searching through steam for anything that looked extraterrestrial. Indeed, there was something extraterrestrial laying at the apex of the gouge, something that looked like a 6-foot-long super-advanced metal skateboard with no wheels. It was possible that it could be some form of hoverboard.

Giddy like a school girl over the fact that he was now the sole possessor of a piece of alien stuff, Miles whipped out his cell phone and texted the first person that came to mind: **Sam.**

**[Dude! Aliens R Among Us!]**

He made sure to take a picture of the steaming hoverboard and sent it along to his best friend. With a bounce in his step, he skipped back to his car and grabbed the thick wool seat-covers from the backseat. Carefully hopping into the shallow ditch, he threw the seat covers over the hoverboard and cinched it with a bungee cord. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself, and then hauled hard against the cord. What came next was an embarrassingly loud and girlish yelp as the weight of the metal artifact threw him back, knocking the wind out of him. Wheezing, Miles regained what little manly composure he had and tried again, with the same results.

"Shit, man, you gotta be like- what? Over 400 pounds?" He trotted around the spaceware. "You're heavy for such a small fry."

In the end, because he was totally unwilling to leave his prize steaming in the middle of the desert where anyone could take it, Miles decided to hook the bungee cord up to the back of his car and haul the thing out that way. The hoverboard came out in tact, the car, on the other hand, near lost its back bumper. It took another half an hour of huffing and puffing on Miles' part to squeeze his prize into the backseat. Despite the rivulets of sweat dribbling down his neck, he grinned like a fool. This was all a labour of love; he _loved_ his new alien trinket, and SkyWatch was going to _love_ the pictures he was about to post.

* * *

"**You have **_**got**_** to be kidding me…" **

"**I'm not! I really am stuck!" **

"**How could you **_**possibly**_** screw up something as simple as making planet fall?" **

There was a grating sound of rock on metal as someone tried to adjust themselves, and then a distinctly muffled reply, **"Just lucky, I guess." **

Ratchet glared down at the aft he was speaking with, which was thrust intrusively into the air since the mech it was attached to was ploughed head first into a rock outcropping. To make matters worse, the more Wheeljack struggled to free himself, the more he managed to bury himself. While the engineer was genuinely apologetic about the situation, and Ratchet seemed positively incredulous that his old friend had managed to do something this stupid within astroseconds of entering Earth's atmosphere, everyone else thought the situation was _hilarious._

"**Ratchet, you can't just leave him stuck in the****re," **Bumblebee reasoned, even though he was having a hard time containing his laughter. If anyone could manage a stellar landing like this, it was Wheeljack.

"**He can stay ****stuck in there until SkyWatch finds him for all I care," **the medic huffed.

"**You don't mean that," **Bumblebee countered, crouching down to poke at the rocks surrounding the pinned engineer. Sam watched the exchange between the mechs curiously from his spot on Bee's shoulder, having wondered briefly about digging the new Autobot out and soothed quickly with the explanation that the engineer had endured far worse in the past.

"**What's a SkyWatch?" **Wheeljack asked, dim light from his fins flashing through the layers of dirt.

"**Nothing you should be**** concerned about at this moment. We'll inform you of the goings on of Earth as soon as we get you sorted out," **Optimus assured.

"**If you say so****," **Wheeljack chimed, wiggling a little. **"Do ya think it be worth it if I tried to transform? Maybe I could squeeze loose from the rocks that way." **

"**Or you could **_**not**_** transform and save me the trouble of digging out all the slag you're bound to collect in your joints the moment you begin the sequence," **Ratchet growled. **"I can see it now; you'll be so full of gravel you won't even be able to move. Ironhide will have to drag you back to base by your fins."**

**Well ain't that a pleasant thought," **Wheeljacklaughed amusedly.

Ratchet rolled his optics. **"This is what you get for being a half-bit."**

"**I didn't want ta**** hit that avian organic on my way down, Ratch'" **Wheeljack protested adamantly. **"Tungsten would have hated me forever if I'd done something like that! An' I'd feel terrible if Tungsten was upset!"**

Ratchet paused for an astrosecond, processing what Wheeljack was saying. **"Tungsten is a drone, Wheeljack," **he said flatly, as if Wheeljack didn't already know.

"**Oh, I know that." **

"**It doesn't give a flying frag what you hit- bird, airplane, or **_**rock**_**." **

"**Oh, no no no, you've got it all wrong****! Tungsten's different! It's got feelings, too, y'know!"**

Ratchet didn't bother to answer, scanning Wheeljack's processor exclusively to make sure the impact hadn't rattled something.

Feeling the tickle of scans being run on him, the engineer chuckled. **"Ya ain't gonna find nothing wrong."**

"**I beg to differ," **Ratchet snorted, but was disappointed to find that his preliminary scans found nothing amiss. For the time being, until he was able to find something wrong with his friend, he was just going to have to accept that Wheeljack thought of a drone as his friend. The engineer had always had a special fondness for Tungsten, but never to this degree.

"**Just because some mechs only got the emotional range of a wrench don't mean everybody does," **Wheeljack pointed out, and then gave himself a few good tugs to see if he could shimmy loose.

Unwilling to spare another second debating the emotional capacities of a tool with no more life in it than a blow torch, Ratchet turned to Ironhide with an irritated scowl. **"Shoot him out." **

Wheeljack reacted immediately. **"Now wait just an astrosecond, Ratch'! No need ta be hasty- a couple more tugs here and there will have me out in a jiffy!" **

"**You said it yourself, you're stuck, and I don't feel like digging," **Ratchet replied flatly, stepping well out of the way to allow Ironhide room. **"If he misses his shot, I can always repair you. It's not like I don't have experience doing that." **

Ironhide snorted, his right cannon charging. **"I won't miss." **

"**This ain't no way ta welcome me ta Earth-!"**

The night lit up with a flash of plasma, and then came the deafening explosion of rocks incinerating in a superheated blast. The concussive force was enough to knock Wheeljack right out of the outcropping, flipping gracelessly over his head and landing on his back in the middle of the smoking debris. He stared up dazedly at the Autobots who gathered around him, his optics darting once or twice to the humans dotted about, but his gaze largely stayed on Ratchet.

"**Better?" **the medic asked.

"**I've been**** worse," **the engineer replied cheerfully with a shrug.

A chartreuse hand was offered, which Wheeljack grasped happily and was pulled to his feet. He flashed a grin to his friends, his fins lighting up the night as he brushed himself off. He paused on the metal tether tied to his ankle, its other end burned off. His optics shot wide, grin gone.

"**Tungy?" **he squeaked. His gaze shot up to his fellow Autobots. **"Did any of you happen to see where Tungsten went?" **

"**Landed that way," **Ratchet replied flatly, pointing in the direction of the highway. He fixed his friend with a scowl. **"Why wasn't that thing in subspace? It's small enough to fit." **

"**He just wanted to come along for the ride. A little fresh air, work his thrusters a bit." **Wheeljack looked to the semi-distant highway, sagging a little. **"Poor little thing must be terrified out there without me. Landing on a strange planet, surrounded by organic aliens…" **His only consolation was that he'd put Tungsten into recharge mode so at least the drone wouldn't be wandering around lost.

"**I'm sure your drone's**** fine, Wheeljack," **Optimus said warmly, patting the mech on the shoulder. **"From what I've heard, you built Tungsten rather well, right?" **

Wheeljack smiled a bit. **"It's not named Tungsten fer nothin',"** he said. **"I designed it's tungsten-adamantium alloy plating myself. Ol' Tungy's designed ta take a beating." **

"**I have no doubt," **Optimus chuckled, sure that a 'beating' was an understatement for any tool under Wheeljack's employment. **"Seeing as the drone has withstood vorns in your company, I'm sure it will be able to stand few breems in the desert without you." **

"**I'm sure yer right, Optimus," **Wheeljack sighed. **"Can't help but worry, though. It ain't never been out and about without me before. It gets lonely so easily, y'see-."**

Before Ratchet could enquire how the pit a drone could get lonely, a sudden yelp from Bumblebee's shoulder drew attention to the alien youngling perched there. He was fumbling with something small and rectangular as it played some obnoxious rift from an Earth band. Flipping open the device, the human read the displayed message and visibly paled with what he saw.

"Um… Bumblebee?" Sam murmured, acutely aware that he was now the subject of everyone's attention. In general, he was used to having the people stare at him now, but the new Autobot's intent gaze, as if he found Sam the most interesting creature in the universe, was a little disturbing.

"Yes, Sam?"

"You know that thing that flew off your friend while he was coming in?" He pointed towards the highway to clarify that he was referring to Tungsten the drone.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Did it by any chance look like this?" He held up his cell phone for Bumblebee to get a look, enabling the other Autobots to steal a glance as well. There was a short message at the top of the miniature screen which boldly stated **[Dude! Aliens R Among Us!] **followed by a dark picture of what could only be described as a very large metal skateboard without wheels, possibly a hovercraft of some sort.

"Yes, Sam. It looks exactly like that."

Wheeljack gave off a gibbering rift of techno-babble, bending low and leaning in so close to the tiny screen that Sam had to lean away. **"How in the pit would a little Earthling get a hold of a picture of Tungsten?" **he asked.

"**Ask him yourself," **Bumblebee suggested. **"Access your English lingual files." **

Wheeljack did so, turning to Sam with a curious look. "Now where on Cybertron would you get a little picture of my drone there, youngling?" he asked, fins flashing.

Sam managed a smile. "Funny story…" he laughed nervously. "It looks like my friend Miles might have found your- uh, drone, and there's a pretty good chance he took it home with him. He's a little alien-obsessed. The drone might be being worshipped as we speak."

Wheeljack blinked once, then twice, and then he broke out into a wide grin. "Well isn't that nice of your friend to take Tungsten home with him!" he exclaimed. "At least I know my little drone isn't alone."

Ratchet face-palmed with a disbelieving groan. "I know you're new to the planet, my friend, but a Cybertronian drone in the hands of a human adolescent is _never_ a good thing, especially when the human in question is, as Sam puts it, "alien-obsessed.""

"Ah, in that case, there is only one thing to do," Wheeljack replied, clapping his hands together.

"And what could that possibly be?" Ratchet asked warily, fearing for the chance of an explosion.

"We will just have to go and get Tungsten before anything happens," Wheeljack said matter-of-factly. "I will be more than happy to collect it myself."

"I believe it would be best to have you back at base for a full maintenance workup first, my friend," Optimus interceded, laying a hand on the engineer's arm. "Bumblebee and Sam are a more than capable team to collect Tungsten for you. And while they do that, we will be able to get you better acclimated to Earth, perhaps even find you an appropriate alt mode to trans-scan." And while Wheeljack pondered the offer, the Autobot leader directed his gaze to Sam, issuing an order like he would for any one of his Autobots. "Contact your friend immediately and request that he do nothing with the drone. The less exposure he has to our technology, the better. If you can, try and keep him distracted long enough to prevent him from posting any images on the internet."

"You got it." Sam's fingers were already flying across his phone's keys as he texted Miles.

Bumblebee perked up, hand to an audio. "Blaster's been listening in," he informed. "He's wondering if he can come along, as well."

"This is a simply collection mission. There's no need for his expertise," said Optimus, quirking an optic ridge.

Bumblebee listened briefly to Blaster's response, and then elaborated on the poor microbot's plight. "He's been cooped up on base for nearly a month and he claims to be suffering from something called "cabin-fever"." The minibot twittered a little. "Since this is such a simple mission, and to be undertaken at night, I have no objections against Blaster coming along."

"Noted," Optimus intoned.

Will and Epps, both of whom had largely been forgotten on Ironhide's shoulders where the giant had thrown them, frowned simultaneously.

"Blaster still doesn't have an alt mode yet," Will pointed out.

Bumblebee revved a laugh as he listened to Blaster protest. "He says he has something better, and if it doesn't work, we're more than welcome to stuff him in my trunk."

Epps laughed. "I'd pay to see that."

Wheeljack hopped anxiously on the tips of his feet. "I do not mean to be a bother, but I _really_ think that it would be best if I came along. I have all the files on road safety for this planet, and I am more than capable of trans-scanning a simple vehicle if I were given an astrosecond on the side of a transport way." He turned his wide optics to Optimus, who had always been more indulgent with him than he should have been; he hoped the commander still was as soft sparked as he'd ever been. **"Tungsten's a very special friend of mine, Optimus. I hate ta think of what's going through its processor right now, wondering where I am and if I'm gonna find him. Please let me go along, too."**

Clearly bemused by the fact that Wheeljack considered his drone to be a friend, which was easily the equivalent of thinking the same of a chair, Optimus saw no reason to deny the mech his wishes other than on ground of questionable sanity. Despite Ratchet's pointedly dark glower, Optimus smiled and acquiesced. **"If you are going to be that insistent on finding your drone, all I ask is that you are careful. You are fairly new to this planet, after all." **

**"Oh, of course, of course!"** Wheeljack exclaimed excitedly. **"I'll be sure ta follow Bumblebee's every move!"** He cackled with electronic laughter. **"We're gonna have so much fun, little buddy! Yer gonna have ta show me all the ropes!" **he exclaimed, clapping Bumblebee on the back.

"**I'll do my best," **Bumble replied haplessly. He had the distinct feeling the human race might not be ready to meet someone quite like Wheeljack.

* * *

There was a certain amount of apprehension floating around in the interior of Bumblebee's alt mode as Sam peered over the driver's seat at Blaster sitting boldly in the back, and then passed Blaster to the green-and-white industrial-sized Hummer H2 enhanced with a 12" lift kit rumbling along behind them.

A good portion of the apprehension was definitely coming from Bumblebee's appointed task of keeping Wheeljack in line. As the scout was quickly finding out, Wheeljack had changed quite drastically since the last time they'd spoken; whereas the engineer had once been absentminded but well-meaning, he was now verging on a near absence of all lucidity. He carried on conversations with himself with the comms on, drove without a hologram in place or tinting his windows to hide the absence of a driver, and tended to shout greetings to nearby life forms whenever they stopped at a street corner. Luckily, it was so late at night that the only life forms around to witness the eccentrically painted white-and-green Hummer gleefully shouting salutations were stray dogs and the occasional homeless person.

His paint also had a tendency to shift colours, and when he came across new vehicles of appropriate size and mass, he'd trans-scan them and drive for a bit like that. He did show a special fondness for his Hummer alt mode though, which bore a striking resemblance to Ratchet's S&R alt mode. Currently, Wheeljack, who had formulated his English designation by playing a very strange game with an online dictionary, was still a Hummer, and was singing along with Queen to _Bohemian Rhapsody_ as it belted from the radio. From what the others could hear, it sounded like Wheeljack was quickly adopting an accent similar to the radio host of the station he was listening to, broadcasting from the heart of New York City.

Blaster, who was only a mild source of anxiety for Bee, sat in the backseat of the Camaro as inconspicuously as a bright-red alien robot could. As unusual as the sensation was for one Cybertronian to climb into another, especially since Bumblebee had never been configured for personnel transport like some larger mechs, the scout was accustomed enough to humans riding in him that Blaster's presence was merely strange, not disturbing. The communications officer was unusually quiet for most of the trip into Tranquility. Only for the first few minutes of the drive had he bothered to keep up a conversation and play a little music, and then he drifted off as his optics dimmed and he began to scan through the internet for something. The only time he actually brought attention to himself was when they had passed the subdivision in which Mikaela's house was located. As a strange signal crossed his sensitive scanners, he'd started and requested another drive by, but as Bumblebee kept moving farther away, he brushed off the sensor ghost and waved away the scout's enquiries, urging them to simply keep moving forward.

Focused on trying to keep this simple mission from failing, Bumblebee kept his attentions divided between his two passengers and the weaving mech on his bumper, as well as trying to figure out possible alternate plans should Miles refuse to hand over Tungsten, not to mention minding the road safety protocols dictated by the planet. Noting that it had been nearly ten minutes since Miles' last text, the scout chose to speak up.

"Sam, do you mind contacting Miles once more?"

"Sure. Don't be surprised if we find Miles on his floor suffering from a self-induced happiness seizure," Sam replied, more than happy to have something to distract himself with. **[Dude, what r u doing right now?] **

The replying text came within seconds, which probably meant Miles was being fuelled by more than a couple cans of Redbull: **[Worshipping at the alter of the almighty alien gods!]**

Sam had to think carefully about the text before replying. **[Dude, plz don't tell me u r raping that thing.] **

**[****Don't worry. Rapeless TLC. :)****]**

Sam, with all the tolerance he'd developed from being friends with Miles for so long, hardly found the text disturbing, though Bumblebee did rev a little when he accessed it out of curiosity.

"Has Miles always been this strange?" the scout asked.

"For as long as I can remember," Sam replied honestly. "The first time I met him we were both in kindergarten and he told me he was actually a hobbit 'cause his brother told him so. Ever since then, we've been best friends."

Bumblebee smiled internally, seeing as he couldn't smile physically in alt mode. "It's good that you've been able have such a good friend for so long."

"I tend to make good but strange friends. Must be my magnetic personality," the human said jokingly, patting Bumblebee's dash.

A metallic hand crept out from the back seat, tapping Sam lightly on the shoulder to catch his attention.

"Alright, how does this look?" Blaster enquired. Several sections of his armor turned inward and compressed against his frame, the antennae arrays on top of his head folding down and several slates between armor plates closing up with gentle jets of air. Once compacted to as small as he could go, two tiny emitters popped up from his shoulders and activated, layering an image across his frame. "Now be honest, how do I look? I've never done somethin' like this before with my holo-matter emitters, so if I screwed up, tell me."

Sitting in Blaster's place was now a tall, broad-shouldered African-American human, all smooth, toffee-colour skin and tan-dyed dreads. The clothes were normal enough, if not a little boring; just a simple tee-shirt and jeans. The hologram would have looked fine, the only thing was…

"You look perfect," Sam gaped.

Blaster grinned, his hologram's facial structure rearranging to reflect the gesture. "Thanks!"

Sam shook his head, struggling to tear his eyes away. "No, I mean you look _perfect_," he insisted, "as in not at all human."

While Blaster did do a good job researching the human figure, finding a body shape that cover his entire frame, he had failed to add in essential details that were all part of human life, like weathering to the skin, lines, freckles, or even pores. Even the irises to his holographic eyes lacked detail, designed with only one flat colour instead of the normal myriad of flecks that could normally be found. There was no sense of age to the image, no _life_. The result was a figure that appeared utterly and inhumanly _perfect_, like a wax doll.

"Slag. I thought I had it." Blaster frowned, examining his now five-fingered hands to see if he could spot what was amiss. "What I get wrong?"

"You're just… I don't know- too _perfect_." Sam said. "There's nothing _wrong_ with you per say, which makes it seem like _everything's_ wrong."

"That don't make sense," Blaster pouted.

"Sorry- it's really creepy, that's all," the human shrugged. The instinctual sense of repulsion he was having towards the hologram was unnerving.

"You're missing a few details, that's all," Bumblebee intoned to clear up Blaster's confusion. "You have to remember that despite how much humans tend to look alike as opposed to our great degrees of variation, they do have their own forms of wear and tear, as well as personalization that reflects their own individual circumstances; weathering, scars, piercings, accessories, and clothing styles all indicate certain things about an individual human."

"Ah, I see," Blaster replied. Immediately his hologram dispersed and his optics went dim as he did a little more research into the subject. A few seconds later, he was nodding to himself with his new information.

"How about this?" The hologram flickered back into place, now equipped with a few subtle adjustments, such as the addition of pores and a few well-placed imperfections to the skin that gave him the look of someone in his mid to late twenties. The tiny tweaks to the hologram made him look a lot more human and a lot less like wax. The most notable additions were the new accessories to his left eyebrow and both ears.

"Nice piercings," Sam commented.

Blaster lifted a finger to poke at the stud in his holographic eyebrow, amused by the alien feel of flesh, and even more amused by the feel of something going through said flesh. "I thought it'd be a nice touch," the microbot shrugged. "I don't get _why_ humans think it's a good idea to wear metal objects through their skin as accessories, but the end result is interestin'."

"You look very human," Bumblebee complimented.

Sam reached out and touched a dreadlock out of curiosity. "Feels human, too," he said, astonished to feel real hair under his fingertips when the other Autobots had only ever displayed flickering light-and-field holograms.

"All part of being a robot in disguise," Blaster replied.

"You're lucky to be equipped with holo-matter projectors," Bumblebee sighed. "It will make maintaining your disguise while interacting with other humans much easier for you."

"You don't have holo-matter, Bee?" asked Sam.

Bumblebee revved. "No. When I left Cybertron, our holographic tech was mostly confined to simple light-and-field arrays. Holo-matter projectors were too bulky for personal use; we only had them in training rooms and firing ranges. Things have obviously changed since I've last been around."

Amidst an energetic rendition of _I'm too Sexy _by Right Said Fred, Wheeljack gaily intoned, "I'd be more than happy to update yer holographic systems, Bee! All you'd need is a little tweak here and there and you'll be spouting solid holograms all over the place." The music faded in and out, as if Wheeljack couldn't decide whether he wanted it on or off. He settled for turning it down. "Holo-matter drains energon reserves a pit of a lot faster, but damn if it isn't useful."

"Maybe I'll hold off on the upgrades until Ratchet deems you fit," Bumblebee mused, inching ahead when Wheeljack started to drift too close to his bumper.

"Bah, I'm as fine as any mech. Ratch' ain't gonna find nothing wrong with me," Wheeljack laughed. "Oh! Y'know what, speaking of good disguises, Tungy might have enough energy left ta try ta trans-scan somethin-"

Bumblebee and Blaster suddenly burst into laughter, startling Sam to the point of jumping out of his seat. The entire interior of the car rocked with Bumblebee's full-frame laughter, Blaster doubled over as he revved loudly in the back seat. Wheeljack remained unaffected by his comrades' raucous laughter, rambling on to himself about remotely rebooting Tungsten and starting up his trans-scanner drives.

Sam tipped his head. "I don't get it, guys. What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," Blaster replied, gulping in air through his intakes to stop the wheezing. "It's just-." he broke off into more laughter, waving a hand. "You wouldn't get it."

Bumblebee filled in for him. "Trans-scanning, Sam," he said, calming marginally, "is usually left for living things. Tungsten, understandably, is not."

"Okay…"

"I don't think there's an appropriate equivalent in your culture, but try thinking of putting a dress on a banana because it was naked and your friend." Bumblebee revved a little more. "It's far funnier in our culture, but you get the idea."

Bemused, Sam shrugged, realizing that they had finally turned on to Miles' street.

Wheeljack sounded overjoyed over the comms as he crowed, "Ah, I got Tungsten locked on sensors! It's in the blue house lined with the phallus-shaped hedge trees! I'll activate his trans-scanner now."

Sam snorted, realizing that the untrimmed bushes he'd passed by every day since he was a child really _did _look like misshapen phalluses. When Blaster enquired about what he found funny, Sam had to wave him off; like Tungsten and the trans-scanner, there were some things that were only funny to certain cultures. Penis-shaped trees felt like something only an Earthling would crack a smile for.

* * *

Miles scratched at his dry eyes, curled into one corner of his room as he stared unblinkingly into the corner across from him, currently occupied by his alien prize. It was well after two in the morning, but he wasn't all that concerned the time. His mother was on nightshift at the local hospital, and even if Selina Lancaster _were_ home, she had a total hands-off parenting style that encouraged Miles to be his own individual any hour of the day and night. The only person in the house who gave a damn if Miles was out wandering around town was Bret, who cared only because he wanted his laptop back. As soon as he did get it back, he went back to thinking Miles had been picked up from a box on the side of a highway.

It was a fight and a half to get the hovercraft into the house, and a pure act of God to manoeuvre the thing into his bedroom, but in the end it was worth. Miles even managed to convince Bret he'd found it dumpster diving, knowing his brother would have no further interest in it as soon as he found out where it came from. Now the alien artefact leaned against its place of honour in the corner, propped up with beanbag chairs and fixed in the best light Miles could manage in his room. The handful of pics he'd posted to SkyWatch were already garnering him godhood amongst his fellow sky watchers on the net.

The last thing Miles ever expected was for the hoverboard to _stand up._

When the first inkling of movement shivered across its metal plating, he simply thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He was too riled up from adrenaline, caffeine, and craziness. But soon the sound of systems booting up were impossible to deny; fans clicked on and whirred, lights that had previously been hidden on the craft cast an eerie blue light along the walls. The entire hovercraft hummed as antigravity thrusters activated, pushing the 400lbs worth of metal into the air as if it weighed nothing, righting itself until it was horizontal with the floor. By this point, Miles could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. A long string of salvia dribbled from his mouth on to his lap as his mouth hung open and gaping. A girl-like squeal passed his lips, entranced by the act of God he was watching.

And then, as simple as could be, the hoverboard gave a muted "meep, meep" and stood up.

What now stood in the corner of Miles so-not-worthy room was a robot of almost human proportions, if humans were naturally 6-foot-something metal robots. The part of it that could be called a face had two lenses that shone pale and unseeing with an absolute absence of expression decorating its features. Despite the surprising thickness of its armor, the being was rather skinny, its limbs and digits longer than proportionally acceptable. It did not see Miles when it swept the room with a scan of blue light, fixating instead on a mechanical object lying forgotten under a pile of dirty clothes.

Miles, for all intents and purposes, stuffed his fist into his mouth so he didn't end up drawing attention to himself by crying out of joy and fear. He watched as the alien robot wandered over to his dirty clothes and sifted through them, uncovering what it seemingly had been looking for. It chirped a "meep, meep" and issued another scan with the same eerie blue light. Within seconds of completeing the scan, Miles was left staring at an exact replica of the ancient monster vacuum cleaner his mother had left in his room in hopes that he would take the hint and clean up. The only differing detail between the original vacuum and the robot that just turned into one was the bright red brand on the back of the alien-vacuum that looked like a designer sad face.

And then the doorbell rang.

Heart leaping into his throat, Miles made a mad dash for the door, practically flying over the robot-turned-vacuum cleaner in his haste to get out of his room. It had to be Sam at the door! Sam was the only one in the world who was honestly going to believe him that the awesome alien hovercraft he recovered from the desert just turned into a vacuum cleaner. Not even the people from SkyWatch were likely to buy that one, but Sam would! Sam always believed him! Or, at least, most of the time he did!

Racing out of his room, he rebounded off the hall's wall and launched down the steps three at a time until he was midway down and fell the rest of the way. Landing in a crumpled heap of pain at the bottom, Bret was kind enough to come along and laugh, opening the front door to expose Miles to the humiliation of the outside world.

"Jerk," Miles grumbled at his brother's utter lack of concern.

"Freak," Bret replied in kind, and turned to the two people lurking on the doorstep. "It's two in the morning," he announced.

"Like you care," Sam replied, wandering passed Bret to help haul Miles off the ground. Bret shrugged and wandered away to show that he really didn't care, intent on raiding the fridge and going back to the living room to watch late night crap. It truth, he was completely unconcerned with what kind of shenanigans his younger brother could get into with his best friend at this hour. The man who'd come with Sam stayed out on the doorstep, looking intensely interested to enter but wary to do so. Sam flicked him a glance. "Come on in," he said with a small gesture, and then returning to Miles. "You okay?"

"Never better," Miles coughed. He clutched his head to make the world stop spinning.

Sam smirked, smacking his friend for good measure. "Sounded like a pretty good wipe out from where I was standing."

"10.0 for the fall, 9.8 for the landing," Miles joked. He blinked his eyes furiously, worried he might be suffering from a concussion; was it just him, or did the black guy just spout an antenna through his dreadlocks? Before he could ponder the mystery, Sam cleared his throat pointedly and the antenna was gone. "Not to be rude or anything, but who are you?" Miles asked, squinting at the stranger.

A large hand was thrust forward eagerly. "DJ Blaster. Nice ta meet cha, man," the man intoned, shaking Miles' hand with more vigour than necessary for two o'clock in the morning. Miles didn't miss Sam slapping a hand to his forehead and groaning, though it was unclear exactly why he did.

"You a DJ somewhere?" Miles asked.

"You could say that. I do a lot of airwaves stuff for friends of mine," Blaster replied, smiling cryptically.

"Cool. Mind if I just call you Blaster?"

"Not at all."

Miles looked back to Sam, who's gaze kept darting everywhere, which was making him more nervous than necessary. "What's up with you?"

"Where is it, Miles?" Sam asked.

"Huh?"

"The dron- uh, the alien thing you found," he elaborated.

Miles wasn't completely stupid; he knew Sam just caught himself from saying something else. It was general knowledge that Sam was an exceptionally bad liar. Instantly suspicious, Miles eyed his friend carefully. "The alien thing?"

Sam looked a little frustrated. "You know what I mean- the thing you sent me a pic of. Where is it?" He was more eager than he usually was for anything Miles found. The slight bit of seriousness mixed with anxiousness in his voice only put Miles further on edge.

"They got to you, didn't they?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Who?"

"The government, dude," Miles sighed with every ounce of pity he could muster.

"Come on, Miles, are you _serious?"_

"Yeah, I totally am. Ever since the summer, you've been acting weird. You're a horrible liar and you've had 'keeping a huge fucking secret' written across your forehead since you and your folks got carted aways by the Men in Black. It's obvious you know something and that you're in league with some government force. Don't even pretend you weren't about to say _drone_. I heard you. I'm not stupid." As he thought over the possibilities, it made more and more sense to him; Sam's recent increase in weirdness, his reluctance to talk about certain things, his occasional and unexplained absences/disappearances from school... There could only be one explanation; the government had fucked with his best friend. It made perfect sense! And now that Miles was in possession of actual alien evidence, they were coming for him too. It was all so clear now. How could he have been so stupid? He'd walked right into a trap letting Sam into his house!

"Look, it's not what you think," Sam reasoned, taking a step forward. He could see the conspiracy cogs turning in his best friend's head.

Miles leapt for the stairway, barring entry to the second level. "Maybe it's exactly what I think and you're just trying to cover it up. That's exactly what some secret organization would want, isn't it?" He eyed Sam, and then looked Blaster up and down. It wasn't coincidence that Sam would bring a complete stranger to his house to see an alien. It screamed _setup_.

"Miles, trust me, you are thinking abut this way too much. Let's just go upstairs, check out the alien thing, hang out, maybe ween you off the energy drinks a little..."

"Right, yeah, let's just back this up a bit. I think with that whole alien thing it was a matter of too much crap in my system. I was totally buzzed out of my mind." He wracked his brain for possible excuses to get rid of his friend. "Complete false alarm, all right? Just a piece of falling space debris, nothing special. I freaked out over nothing; a total boy-who-cried-wolf scenario. Sorry for dragging you and your friend into this. You can go home now."

Sam was not to be swayed. "Can I still see it, even if it is a piece of satellite crap?" He tried to push passed Miles on the stairs, only to be stopped when Miles gripped his bicep. The muscle clenched in surprise, and Miles startled from the discovery of actual muscle on Sam's arm. When had Sam ever had muscle?

"Don't go up there," Miles warned, even though he had a crawling sense of apprehension creeping down his spine. Sam really had changed while he wasn't looking and he could see it so clearly now in his friend's expression.

"All I want to do is see it," Sam insisted.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't. I don't care how unpatriotic this sounds, but you can take whatever underground government conspiracy group you're working for and screw it, 'cause what I found out there is mine and I'm not giving it up."

The front door behind Blaster suddenly gave an insistant rattle, bursting open as a new figure appeared. The light of the entryway revealed him to be a man of indefinable age with a mop of jet-black hair twisting wildly everywhere and the biggest blue eyes anyone could fit on a normal human being. He had a disturbingly perfect look about him, as if he were carved from living wax, which immediately put Miles' guard up, if bursting into his house wasn't enough to do that.

"Wheeljack, get outta here!" Blaster suddenly cried, attempting to catch the man before he could weave into the house. 'Wheeljack' was too spry to be caught, sliding under Blaster's arms and sidling up to Miles' with a bright smile on his too-perfect face. He patted Miles' on the shoulder, laughing a little.

"Sorry to disappoint you, little human, but Tungsten is actually mine," he announced, and then opened his mouth and let loose a series of inhuman electronic shrieks. In quick succession, there came a muffled "meep, meep" from upstairs, followed by the sound of a vacuum cleaner rolling along the floor by itself. As it crested the top of the stairs, the light from the fixture above cast the monstrous vacuum in a magnificent silhouette, before the scene was ruined by it taking its first thunk down the steps, the nozzle dragging gracelessly after it.

_Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk- _all the way to the bottom where it nudged up against Wheeljack's holographic leg like a vacuum-shaped cat.

"Tungsten!" Wheeljack cried, not caring what form his dear drone was in. He fell to the ground and hugged the vacuum cleaner to his chest.

"Meep, meep."

"_Dude." _Miles clutched to the banister as his world took a hardcore flip on its axis. His eyes bugged out of his head as he stared up at Sam. His tiny human brain put two and two together as fast as it possibly could. "If that vacuum is from space, and that guy owns the vacuum, and he-," he pointed to Blaster, "is with them, does that mean…?"

Blaster looked out open door haplessly, receiving a short honk from the black-and-yellow Camaro sitting on the curb. If the Earthling already figured this much out, they couldn't possibly screw him up more. In an instant, the man was replaced by a bright-red alien robot.

"Yeah, we're all aliens," Blaster sighed, shrugging his metal shoulders. "Well, except for Sam."

Miles, after all that transpired in the last few hours, promptly passed out from alien-induced joy.


	21. Hound is Found

All of you really have three very special people to thank for this speedy and well edited chapter. The first to thank is **Lady Tecuma**, who selflessly sent me a second review anonymously so that I would hit my ten review quota. Thank you so much my dear, dear friend! You are far too wonderful for words!

The second person who deserves some deep and heartfelt thanks is **Lecidre**, who recently did a piece of fanart for _As We Come Together_ regarding the characters Chase and Hound. I strongly suggest you all take a peek- she truly took my breath away with the pic. I swear I cried a little when I saw it, it's that beautiful. **Lecidre**, I can't tell you how truly grateful and inspired I am from your wonderful work. Your art simply makes me want to be a better writer to live up to the fanart you do.

And last, but not least, my wonderful and eagle-eyed friend **Litahatchee**, who has the amazing ability to spot a misspelled or missing word from a mile away. With out editing this chapter, my dear, every second sentence would probably be backwards or upside down, or worse yet, _in French_, because of my distraction and infatuation with **Lecidre**'s fanart. You saved this chapter's ass, as well as a good portion of my own. I'll be forever grateful to you!

_*Ahem* _Now then, if we can get on with the thank yous I'm sure everyone is eager for- my deepest, utter, heartfelt, most sincere thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter. Each and every single one of you has made writing such a joy! Grateful hugs and love to **Bluebird Soaring, Bunnylass, Jason M. Lee, CuteKitten, Chloo, Lady Tecuma, Silveriss, Lecidre**, and **Violetlight**! May the universe smile upon you all!

_Mi'kmaq- _Pronounced "Mick-mack." It might come as a surprise to some of you who haven't been on my devART account to hear that the Banes' are actually native, but I was researching Megan Fox one day and saw that she has a little native blood in her, so I decided to draw on that. Chase would be a full-blooded, full-status Mi'kmaq from her mother and father, though Mikaela is only half through her father, while her mother had Italian roots.

**As We Come Together  
In Which Hound is Found**

As far as days go, the last Friday morning of the month of October, which also just happened to fall on the very last day of October, looked like it was going to be a relatively cheerful day, if the clear dawn sky was any indication.

Mikaela quirked a smile as she peered through her bedroom window, feeling light-hearted for no other reason than to simply be happy. With a quickness and quietness she'd long since learned from sneaking around, she dressed in the nearest clothes at hand and slipped out her bedroom door. Sliding down the short hallway, she paused to peek into the living room to make sure the creature within was still dead asleep. As expected, Chase was facedown on the couch, sleeping in only a large football jersey she'd presumably stolen from someone and a pair of mismatched socks- one black, the other blue. The growling noise of her snoring was enough to assure Mikaela she had enough time to be out of the house and back again before her aunt woke.

Slinking into the kitchen, she spared only a glance back into the darkened, semi-quiet house before she was gone. The kitchen, as well as much of the house, was in a relative state of cleanliness it hadn't seen in a _long_ time. Ever since that night out in the shed when Mikaela had let her drunken mouth run a little too long, Chase had been putting in an effort to be a little more human. The clutter that normally laid like a stale layer of dust through the house was cleared away, things swept up, dishes put away, glass bottles (and there were a lot of them) stashed for recycling, and every tool they had lying haphazardly about migrated back to their places in the shed. It was an interesting transformation to watch, and even better to assist. For the first time in a long time, the Banes house was a home that Mikaela was happy to return to, even if she still had to deal with a bear in the living room once in a while.

Dashing into the driveway, she circled around the Honda Civic on her way into the shed. Like every morning when Chase was still passed out, Mikaela took extra care to inspect the Jeep Gladiator that was taking up a more permanent residence in there. For the last few days, verging on a week, it had been left in the shed while Chase used the Civic to go back and forth to work. Her excuse was that the radiator was cracked and she was waiting for a new one to come in to replace it, but the excuse was weak at best. Chase just didn't want to drive her Jeep for some reason. Finding nothing particularly amiss with the Jeep this morning, Mikaela took up her Vespa and left, zipping down a few blocks to the corner store where she normally bought coffee for Chase in the mornings.

The employees recognized her immediately, greeting her with smiles and cheerful salutations. She returned them just as warmly, finding that she really did mean it without feeling like they were all just automated responses. Breezing over to the coffee dispensers, she chose the strongest, blackest coffee of the selection whose content was reminiscent of battery acid. There was a small display of cupcakes at hand near the coffee, decorated up in an assortment of Halloween themes. After contemplating the adorable collection of icing-spiders and candy bats and all manner of spooky sugary goodness, she chose a fat chocolate cupcake with a gummy tarantula on it.

The cashier, who Mikaela had known ever since she was old enough to bike to the store with her dad, laughed at the addition to Mikaela's usual morning purchase. "Getting in the mood for Halloween?" she asked, ringing up the two items.

"Something like that," Mikaela replied as she dug around for her pitiful pocketful of change. She was embarrassed to find that, after paying the bill on her cell phone and filling the gas tank of her Vespa, she didn't even have enough to pay for her cup of coffee.

The cashier, Wendy was her name, took pity on Mikaela, pushing the coffee and cupcake toward her. She was well aware of the Banes' family situation. "Don't worry about it, honey. Just take them and get on home," she said soothingly.

"You sure?" Mikaela wondered, embarrassed.

Wendy leaned across the counter to pat Mikaela's hand fondly. "My dear, you've been coming here since before you were tall enough to see over this counter. Customer loyalty like that doesn't come along very often. Think of this as a treat from me to you." She winked, already closing the cash register with a definitive snap.

"Oh, alright. Thank you. Uh- Happy Halloween!" Collecting her coffee and cupcake, Mikaela wandered back to her Vespa, balancing the two items between her legs all the way back to her place.

Chase, as it just so happened, was awake by the time Mikaela walked in the front door. She was still clad in only a jersey and mismatched socks, but her tar-black eyes were bright as they zeroed in on her niece bearing gifts. She cracked a dry smile upon seeing the coffee.

"Sorry to break it to you, Mickey, but I don't got a hangover this morning," she rasped, hopping up onto the countertop with predator-like grace. Her tangled hair caught in the sunlight streaming in through the window, casting her in a warm haze that made her russet skin glow, making her look like a wild thing dragged in from the depths of a forest.

"I know. I was just trying to be nice," Mikaela replied nonchalantly, handing the coffee over anyways. "I got you this, too." She held out the sugary tarantula-topped cupcake, which her aunt regarded with sharp curiosity.

"You sucking up for something?"

"No, it's your birthday present this year, since I didn't have any money for anything else." She neatly forgot to mention she didn't even have the money for the cupcake.

"Is it the 28th already?" Chase breathed, possessing the look of an adult who just realized how fast time was flying by without noticing.

Mikaela looked a little guilty. "Actually, no, it's the 31st. I forgot about your birthday and only remembered this morning. So happy belated birthday."

Cupcake in hand, examining it amusedly, Chase shrugged. "Better late than never, I guess. I still thought it was September." She used her toe to reach over and open the cutlery drawer, and then shifted her body so as to use her hands to pick up a knife. She cut her cupcake in two and handed the bigger half to Mikaela. "Nothing better than cupcakes for breakfast," she said ruefully, toasting her half with Mikaela's.

"_So nutritious,"_ Mikaela exclaimed with every ounce of sarcasm she had, though she made a point of taking a bite out of the chocolate confection and found it delicious.

"Thanks for the birthday present, kid. Love it," Chase laughed, but set her own cupcake aside in favour of glancing to the crooked clock on the wall. "It's getting late, though," she commented. "You going to school today?"

"Skipping," Mikaela informed without fear of reprimand. It was another reason she was in a relatively good mood, although she couldn't quite understand why. Miles, it seemed, had discovered the Cybertronians' existence Wednesday night and was now insisting on hanging with Sam and Mikaela to get the full scoop. When Sam had called her out of the blue Thursday night to make the suggestion, her heart had tumbled in her chest in a way it shouldn't have at the prospect of hanging out with an ex, but she agreed nonetheless.

Chase arched a dark eyebrow. "Skipping, huh? Early Halloween celebrations, right?"

"Not even close. I'll save the trick-or-drinking for you tonight," Mikaela replied, hearing the familiar purr of a certain Camaro's engine as he rolled up to the curb.

"Suits me fine," Chase replied with a shrug. "Have fun doing… whatever is it you're gonna do today."

"Sure." In a fond gesture, Mikaela leaned forward to hug her aunt, and was surprised to find the hug returned with a laugh and good squeeze.

"Get going, would you? I'm going to go put some pants on." With a good-natured smack to her rear, Mikaela was shooed out of the house to meet up with Bumblebee, Sam, and Miles at the curb. She was greeted with a range of hellos, warm ones from Bumblebee, slightly nervous ones from Sam, and one of complete and utter alien-worship from Miles, who was more than happy to scramble to the back seat of the Camaro in order for Mikaela to take her place in the passenger's seat.

"It's good to see you all, too," she said, sliding into the warm leather like she was coming home after a very long time away.

Miles was in her ear before she could even fasten her seat belt. "_Girl_, forget everything I have ever said about you being an evil jock concubine. You are the most awesome ass-kicking female on the face of the planet!" Obviously he'd been informed of some of the things that went down a few months ago.

She playfully shoved the blond back into his seat. "I'm not that amazing, Miles," she assured with a roll of her eyes.

What truly made her day was the moment Sam glanced over at her and smiled an awkward smile that she had missed so much. "Nah, he's right," he said. "You were kickass at Mission City."

Flattered, Mikaela replied, "You weren't so bad yourself."

* * *

A full orn worth of recharge would do any mech wonders, as Hound was discovering as he came back online. His self-repair programs were working at an amazing 97 percent and a vast majority of the damages incurred to him two Earth months before were already repaired. The Mu virus remained, but its presence had long since become an annoying hindrance rather than a worrying problem. He thought briefly about transforming and giving himself a good stretch to shake out some of the stiffness that had accumulated in his frame, but he checked himself before he started to rearrange his frame. Registering the four walls around him, he remembered where he was and why it was an extremely bad idea to transform. He'd undoubtedly get into more than a little trouble with his little human friend.

And speaking of his little human friend, the door to the shed pried open to admit his uncombed, unwashed, barely dressed, spitfire female friend. She gave Hound a quick glance and slumped disappointedly when she assumed he was still in recharge. In a gesture she never would have done were he awake, she set down her coffee and cupcake and grabbed a soft rag from her workbench, giving Hound a quick run down to wipe away the thin layer of dust that had settled on him.

"Been lonely without you annoying the piss out of me, buddy," she admitted to his supposedly sleeping form. "Too quiet, y'know? Guess you must have really needed the sleep, though…"

Hound, as he saw it, determined that _this_ was the best time to let his human friend know that he was online.

"_Good mornin', Chase!" _

She jumped about a foot in the air.

"Holy fucking shit, Hound!" she screeched, clutching her chest as her heart tried to beat its way out of her ribcage.

Hound laughed, and then had to activate his windshield wipers when a cup of coffee was flung at him. "Sorry, sorry, Ah couldn't resist!"

"I bet you couldn't!" Chase hissed. She banged him on the hood hard enough to make the metal rattle, and then kicked his front wheel a few times, though Hound hardly felt the attacks. "I just about pissed myself!"

"Ah didn't scare ya that badly," he said, still laughing.

Her mouth curled into a stubborn frown which only lasted a few seconds until Hound's warm, revving laughter caused her to crack a bare smile. "Fine, you didn't scare me _that_ badly, but you're still an ass for doing it in the first place."

"Ah can live with that."

"You better." Chase ran her hand along his grill. "Glad to see you're awake, though." She failed to mention that she'd been lonely as hell without him, but he'd heard her well enough when she'd first come in that he didn't care. "Did you have a nice- uh, recharge?"

"Yeah, real nice," Hound replied happily. "Ah was finally able to charge all mah power reserves, even my holo-matter ones." He was gratified to find Chase took an interest in the information.

"It's good that you were finally able to get charged up," she replied. "I didn't think you had to recharge for so long; I was starting to think you were never going to wake up." She shrugged a little, skating over how much it bothered her to be ignorant of Cybertronian technology. "If it wasn't for the occasional noise your fans make, I'd of thought you were dead."

"Mah kind recharge a little longer than yours, but Ah had no intention of staying that way. Ah was bound to wake up some time," Hound replied, nudging his friend happily. She returned the gesture, unsuccessfully shoving him. He enjoyed the effort; it showed how comfortable she'd finally become in his presence.

"You know, it was so much quieter with you asleep. You could have stayed that way so I could have some peace around here." The look on her face, as far as Hound could translate, meant that she didn't mean the taunt literally, but as a joke.

"Ah'll keep that in mind for next time," Hound laughed. His attention was then drawn to the cupcake as Chase reached for it, plucking the black-and-orange gummy from the top and popping it in her mouth. "What's that?"

She swallowed the spider whole. "What's what?"

"That thing you're ingestin'."

"The spider?"

Hound paused. "It wasn't real, was it?"

Chase sent him a flat look. "No, stupid. It was a candy."

"Ah see, and the other thing?"

She held up her half of her birthday cupcake for his inspection. "You mean the cupcake?"

"Yeah."

"It's my birthday present. Mickey got it for me." And then, a tad bit defensive because she knew half a cupcake wasn't exactly all that impressive, she added, "And it's damn good, too."

Accustomed to Chase's defensive nature, Hound ventured to safer waters. "Your kind celebrate your days of creation here?"

Shoving the rest of the cupcake into her mouth, Chase answered only after she took her time savouring the mouthful of chocolate. "A lot of people do, I suppose. I can't say what _everyone_ does, but a lot of people celebrate the day they were born. Why? Cybertronians don't?"

"No, we don't," Hound replied.

"Age ain't important to your kind?"

"Not really, no. Maturity is considered a more important trait, no matter the age of the bot."

This seemed to garner some subtle interest from the human, who would be considered skating along the fine precipice of middle age now. "So… you're only as old as you feel on Cybertron?"

Hound considered the analogy, thinking of younger bots he knew who held enough wisdom to rival planetary libraries, and older bots who had the mental capacity of a youngling. "Essentially, yeah. Ya act however old ya feel."

"I like that," Chase commented vaguely.

"Our system of considerin' maturity over chronological age works well for mah species. It's hard ta keep track of exactly how old ya are when ya live for such a very long time."

"You have a point," the human conceded. "We don't have that problem around here. Our lives go by in a flash." She said it with some experience.

"Ah gathered as much," said the Autobot softly. He wanted to change the subject, choosing a lighter topic. "Do ya exchange gifts with others on these days, like the cupcake Mikaela gave ya?"

"Sure, we'll give gifts. I don't speak for the whole planet, but I guess it is common enough," Chase said. Her eyes narrowed on him. "Why the sudden interest? Is this another one of your I-want-to-know-everything-about-you-humans things?"

"Just curious, Ah suppose," Hound admitted. "Ah don't have access to the internet to do the research mahself, remember? All Ah got is you and radio."

The human's face knit into one of vague concern as she remembered. "Yeah, right, I know." She stroked him along his grill gently, almost fondly. "Keep your hopes up, Hound. You'll be found soon, and then you'll be surfing the net like a nerd on cocaine."

Despite the oddity of the idiom, Hound bobbed on his shocks in agreement. "Of course. Ah'll be found sooner or later."

As what had become common within the last few orns, Chase smiled easily and somewhat openly. "That's the spirit."

"In the mean time, Ah was wondering if it was alright ta show ya somethin'? Ah've been workin' on it for the last couple weeks and Ah think Ah finally got it right."

"Is that so?"

"Now that Ah'm all fully charged, Ah'll be able ta show ya properly." Hound paused, measuring what it was worth to say anything more. "You could think of it as a birthday present, if ya like." He sounded like he wanted to make it a birthday present.

"Sure, why not?" she shrugged, under the impression that something small and unspectacular was about to happen.

There was a brief shimmering in the dim light of the shed, and then something _solid_ came into existence. Chase _knew_ it was solid because of the faint whoosh of air being forced out of the area it was previously occupying as something else filled it. First she was startled, and then she was forced to pinch herself to make sure what she was seeing was real. The last thing she'd expected to happen was see a _human_ appear in her shed. She'd long since gotten over her resentment for the holo-dog, but this was a whole new can of worms.

"Hound, is that you?"

The holographic figure looked rather proud of himself. "Yep, it's me."

"Holy flying shit," she murmured in disbelief to herself. As carefully as she could, she inched around Hound's hologram to the door, closing it so no one else would catch sight of the odd stranger. While Chase was known for bringing home strangers, she had the distinct feeling the neighbours would certainly raise their eyebrows if they caught sight of _this_ stranger. There weren't many who wouldn't raise their eyebrows if they caught sight of him.

After making sure the door was secure, she turned back to see if the man had disappeared. He hadn't. She repeated her favourite swear words in her head, questioned her sanity, and then laughed at herself for being the one miserable human out of six billion on the planet to end up with _Hound_, of all the aliens in the universe, as a friend. For once, she ignored the burning need for a drink.

Hound took Chase's speechlessness to spark. The hologram looked himself over carefully, from his feet to his hands to anything else within visual range. "Ah did get it right, didn't Ah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then why aren't ya saying anything'?"

"Because I might swear at you if I do."

"Oh. Take your time, then."

By the looks of things, Hound had been more attentive than Blaster when trying to formulate a proper hologram matrix, though they were completely unaware of the other mech's attempts. Hound's design was largely based off of Chase's own physical parameters, barring the fact that she was _female_ and he wished to identify as _male_. Basing his image off a real human obviously helped him remember the need for certain details, such as pores and lines around his eyes that could either have been from the sun or smiling too much, all of which accumulated into having him appear in the age range of late thirties. The hologram was quite tall for a human in general, and developed in a way that conveyed that he'd worked most of his life in a physically demanding profession. To be fair, he really had worked in a demanding profession, just not as a human. For the finishing touches, he largely copied Chase's aesthetic endowments, such as the pigmentation of her skin. He was, after all, a mimic at spark.

Chase opened and closed her mouth a few times before managing to say, "You look- um…"

"Ya don't like it, do ya?" Hound sighed. His frame sagged on his wheels, and even the hologram looked disappointed. Chase crossed her arms over her chest, stubborn and frowning.

"I like it fine, Hound," she sighed, feeling a tad strange talking to the imitation-human when she was so accustomed to talking to either a truck or a dog "It's a really interesting birthday present. I can honestly say no one's ever gotten me something quite like this before."

He looked marginally cheered by this. "So ya like it?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I mean, you look very…"

"Ah look like what?" Hound pressed, daring to take a step forward.

"Um…"

Hound unintentionally loomed over her, a consequence of having designed himself larger than the other human. She coughed, warning Hound that he best back off or he'd find out what it felt like to have a human's fist driven into his abdomen. He backed off, and Chase finally found some words to say.

"You look _human_," she said lamely.

"That's what Ah was going for," he chirped.

"_Sure."_ She looked him up and down and couldn't help but think the hologram was a distinct improvement over the _dog_. "Why do you look like that, exactly?"

"Like what?"

"Like me." She brought herself about a foot away from the hologram, the top her head reaching just below his nose. It was strange standing next to someone taller than her. She topped at six-foot-three, so Hound must have been at least six-foot-seven. She hesitated to touch him, letting Hound take her hand and place it to his humanlike cheek to show that he was indeed solid. His cheek was warm and a bit rough with short stubble. "You look like me."

"You're the human Ah've been around the most," he informed. "It only makes sense that Ah'd mimic ya."

"Mimicking me?" Chase snorted. Sure, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but this was just getting ridiculous.

"Ah do recall ya describing it like 'monkey-see-monkey-do fuckin' aliens'," Hound piped in helpfully.

She rolled her eyes, tugging at the small scruffy patch of black hair in the hollow beneath his bottom lip. "I don't recall having facial hair."

He laughed. "Ah may have taken _some_ artistic license." He'd never had hair before, so it seemed like a fine time to try it out.

"Very artistic," Chase commented, more to herself than to him.

He felt her hand move over his cheekbones to his black hair. His sense of touch was more acute in the hologram than in his actual frame; Chase's fingers felt like little trails of fire against the matrix's surface. He turned his head carefully as she followed the curve of his neck to his broad shoulders, and then let her trace the outline of his arms. He was built much larger than an average human, but Chase seemed to appreciate it. Hound almost purred as the human continued her inspection. Humanity, he determined, was lucky to be able to feel so much so acutely. He'd never been so aware of the sensation of touch before.

Her gaze, so dark as to be black, met his warmer chocolate brown stare. A frown played at her mouth that wasn't severe, merely thoughtful.

"If you think this will help you blend in, it really won't, you know." She said it offhandedly, as if still considering the words as she said them.

"Why not? Ah thought ya said Ah looked human."

"Sure, _human_," she agreed reluctantly. "But you also look like _me_. Not always a good mix, if you know what I mean."

Hound canted his head. "No, Ah don't know what you mean."

"Visible minorities don't always fit in around here." She held up her russet-toned hand, a shade lighter than Hound's own chosen colour. "When you look different from everyone else, that's all you'll ever be- _different_."

"Pigmentation variances in flesh don't matter ta me," Hound asserted.

Chase smiled pityingly. "Unfortunately, it matters to the rest of the world, bastards that they all are. Maybe for your first time looking human, you should try for something other than me, I mean- uh, you should try something other than _native_." She had thirty-eight years and two days worth of being Mi'kmaq, so it was safe to say she had a little experience on the short end of the minority stick.

Hound pondered the suggestion, and then shook his head. "Nah, Ah think Ah'll stay this way. It took me long enough ta make this matrix just right, Ah don't wanna make another one. Besides, Ah think Ah like looking this way." He took Chase's hand. "I like _this_ colour more than the colour of paler humans' skin."

Chase's cheeks pinked and she tugged her hand away. "Fine, you stay looking like that if you want. It might be a bit tougher for you, but at least you'll look better. Hell, your hologram's big enough that I doubt anyone would want to start trouble with you anyways." She backed away to the door, cracking it open and letting some fresh air into the stale room. "I was just coming in to see if you were awake, and now that I know you are, I'm going to get ready for work. I'll drive the Civic, so don't bother starting yourself up."

"Oh no, Ah'll drive ya. Ah'd like ta drive ya," Hound offered happily. "Ah could try mah new hologram out on other humans." He tried to follow Chase out, but she shooed him back in with a strong shove to the chest, sending him sprawling back into his alt mode.

"Not a good idea," she laughed, finding Hound's insistence funny. "How about when I go out tonight, I take you with me? That sound better? It'll be a lot more fun, being Halloween and all."

Hound perked up. Chase couldn't decide what looked funnier; a hologram of a man looking like a kid in a candy store, or a Jeep doing a really good impression of the same thing.

"Alright, Ah'll go out with ya tonight," Hound agreed happily.

"Good." Chase backed herself out of the shed, careful not to let the door open too wide. She paused, halfway out, and then looked back. "Uh- y'know what, Hound?"

"Yeah?" He was half way through dispersing the holo-matter matrix.

"While I'm at work, maybe you could spend the day figuring out the human significance behind _clothes_."

"Oh, Ah _knew_ Ah was forgetting somethin'!"

* * *

Teenagers, by some cosmic law of the universe, always found themselves gravitating back to one house by the end of the day to do absolutely nothing, which, when asked by an adult what they were doing, suddenly morphed into them doing "stuff." This law held true with Mikaela, Sam, and Miles, all three of whom found themselves magically transported back to Mikaela's house by the end of a very exciting and exhausting day. Even though Miles had been weaned off the energy drinks, the moment Bumblebee rolled onto base there'd been no stopping the kid. He was easily excitable when in the presence of beings who validated his very reason for existence, which meant Sam ended up apologizing more than once for his friend over the course of the day.

It wasn't until Ratchet finally got fed up with the annoyance and started to roar that his med bay wasn't a zoo that the humans and Bumblebee figured it would probably be safer to remove themselves from the base until Miles learned to curb his enthusiasm. Which, as previously pointed out as a cosmic law of the universe, brought them back to what they were currently doing: _stuff_.

Mikaela's day, which had been pretty great to start with, turned out to be entertaining for the rest of it.

Bumblebee, given permission by Mikaela, was parked on the front lawn instead of on the curb like he usually was. With some complicated rearranging of mirrors and reflective surfaces, much of which was done with Blaster's help, the scout was able to project a light-and-field hologram into the living room. While he wasn't able to see, feel, hear, or speak with it, it did give the illusion that he was a part of the gathering. He was a skilled enough scout to make it look like he was interacting with them, even if his voice was being transmitted through Sam's phone, which had kindly been set beside the hologram.

Blaster happily provided a fair amount of entertainment as he went about exploring Mikaela's dwelling. Understandably, he'd never been in another alien's house before, aside from Miles'. Now he had free run of the Banes' place and was loving every minute of it.

"Are any of you going to celebrate Halloween tonight?" Bumblebee asked curiously to the three humans as they lounged nonchalantly about the living room.

Sam shrugged from where he sat on the floor in front of the couch. "Don't know. We're a little old to be running the streets in costumes."

"I think I'm going to stay here and hand out candy to the kids," Mikaela informed. As much as she loved going out with her aunt to tramp around town, this felt more like a stay-at-home year.

"I'll be trick-or-treating until the day I die," Miles announced happily, more than willing to supply any information the awesome-alien-robot-scout wanted to know.

Mikeala tilted her head. "I thought Sam said you were a…"

"Witch?" Miles supplied, unbothered. "Sure I am, although my mom's coven prefers 'Wiccan' 'cause there's less stigma around the word."

Mikaela nodded. "Um, yeah… I didn't think you guys did Halloween."

Miles smiled, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, it's my mom who's real big into the Wicca and New Age stuff. She celebrates Samhain and stuff like that, but she lets me and Bret figure out our own way in life, you know? I like the free candy and shit I get for Halloween, and besides, I can honestly say that I'll probably be the only legitimate witch out on the streets tonight."

Mikaela laughed. "That's pretty awesome, I guess."

"I wish I could participate in Halloween. Not for the candy, but for the opportunity," Bumblebee sighed. "It is so hard to find things to do on this planet when everyone is so small here."

"I know what you could go as if you did go out for Halloween," Sam voiced. "You could be a car disguised an alien robot disguised as a car. You'll have the best costume in town!"

"No one will ever know it's you!" Miles exclaimed, laughing.

Blaster popped his head into the room, a baseball cap crammed over his metal head. "You could try it, Bee," he teased. "Ya never know, maybe you'll win a prize somewhere."

"I highly doubt it," Bee sighed.

"Never know until ya try," the mech shrugged, switching his baseball cap for a cowboy hat. Neither fit well over the awkward proportions of the microbot's head, but he didn't seem to mind. He offered a smile to Mikaela. "Thanks for lettin' me look around. Ya got a real interestin' house." Sadly, he'd failed to discover the source of the sensor ghost he'd picked up Wednesday night.

"No problem," Mikaela replied.

Bumblebee's hologram flickered, his attention diverted elsewhere for a moment. "Mikaela, I believe your paternal aunt is returning."

"Huh, I guess she got off work early. Just get off the front lawn and you'll be fine, Bee," Mikaela instructed as she began putting all the mirrors back into their right places, which forced Bumblebee to turn off his hologram. Blaster already had his hologram in place, grinning contentedly on the couch. A minute later, the Civic swung into the driveway followed by muffled footsteps across the lawn. The door creaked open and Chase shuffled in, her head popping into the living room to see who was there. Sam was regarded with some amount of scepticism, and Miles and Blaster were looked up and down with the flat look of disinterest.

"Hey," Mikaela greeted.

Chase nodded to her niece. "Hey." Her eyes shifted back to the trio of boys, looking them up and down, then she looked back at her niece. "My, how your standards keep dropping."

"They're better than the company you keep," Mikaela countered. "Didn't I catch you talking to a dog a little while ago?"

"Touché," the woman laughed. Since this day was turning out to be remarkably fine for both Banes women, Chase decided to do the most human thing she could think of, offering her hand to both new faces. "Chase," she announced, then jerked her head in Mikaela's direction. "That little brat's jail warden."

"Miles," one chirped, carefully shaking her hand.

"Blaster," said the other, and then added, "It's my real name, too."

Chase laughed. "Go figure." She glanced to Sam, mussing his hair roughly. "And I already know you, boy."

"Good to see you too," Sam greeted with false warmth.

Chase glanced from Sam to Mikaela; they sat on opposite sides of the room, barely facing each other, and had 'post-breakup awkwardness' written across their foreheads, and yet there was a smile on each of their faces that could obviously be attributed to hanging out with each other again. Instead of pointing this out, Chase said something else what was bound to catch the group's attention-

"There's a shitload of candy in the car for tonight. Eat it or hand it out- your choice. I'm going to get changed." She was gone in a faint whiff of motor oil and sweat.

Mikaela rolled her eyes and got up, the rest following her. True to Chase's word, the backseat of the Civic was strewn with bags of candy she'd picked up half-price somewhere. It was enough to cause a kindergarten class full of hyped up kids to spontaneously combust.

"This is a lot of candy," Blaster commented as he gathered the bags with minimal effort.

"We get a lot of bratty kids around here," Mikaela replied. "It's best to appease them with candy or else they egg the house." Miles and Sam exchanged guilty looks; on more than one Halloween they'd been out with friends egging houses for kicks.

"Heads up, we may have a visitor heading our way," Bumblebee warned, drawing attention to the SUV parking directly across the road from them. The man that climbed out could be described best as imposing; he was tall and broad, dark russet skin stretched tight over hard worn muscle, a thick latticework of pitch-black tribal tattoos snaking up his arms. His long black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck, some stray strands falling into his hardened eyes as he scanned the street.

Mikaela startled, suddenly pale. "Daddy?"

David stilled as he heard Mikaela's voice, frowning briefly as he placed the voice, and then breaking into a wide grin. "Hey baby girl," he called.

"Daddy!" She was off like a shot, meeting David at the curb for the most exuberant hug in the history of all hugs. "Oh my god! I can't believe you're here! I mean, what are you doing here? I thought you said you were working for people-! I'm so glad you're here though!" She hugged him tightly, letting herself be swept up into a bear hug. He was exactly as she remembered him, like a great big teddy bear; his growling voice, his big arms, his smell, which was a mix of cigarettes and aftershave.

"I missed you, baby girl," David said, smiling fondly.

"I missed you too," Mikaela replied breathlessly. "But I thought you weren't going to be around for a while. You said in your letter you didn't know when you'd be back."

David's smile faded a little. "Yeah, I'm not here for long, hon. I'm still on business."

Mikaela's smile faltered. "Oh... you mean you're not here to see me?"

David was quick to catch her face, rubbing her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. "No, baby, girl, that's not it. I'd come see you any day, I swear, but the people I work for- they got this call that there was something they needed in this area, and since I know it best, they sent me. I just wanted to swing by here to see you before I went to check out what they wanted me to see."

She deflated quite a bit with the news, her smile holding on by only a flicker. "You're not here for long, are you?"

"Only for a couple of minutes." He glanced down to his watch, and then did a double take, his expression darkening. Blaster backed up a step as he picked up something he had missed before, sending a rapid message to Bumblebee, who discreetly started to inch away along the curb.

"What is it?" Mikaela asked, noting her father's change.

"Mickey…" he watched his daughter carefully, unsure of how to broach the subject. "You don't have anyone _special_ here, do you?" The way he said special, as if the word meant a very dirty secret, put Mikaela on edge.

"Special how?" she asked.

"Special like _not from around here_," David stressed, laying a hand to her shoulder. The touch felt no longer friendly. She backed away a step, suddenly wary of her father's presence. She didn't like the look on his face- the expression he usually wore when he saw a car he liked and was already planning to steal it.

"Nobody like that around here," Mikaela murmured, waving vaguely to Sam, Miles and Blaster. "Just my friends."

"Are you sure?" He looked to his watch again, and then his gaze strayed to vehicles in the vicinity, first the Civic, then the Jeep, and then finally landing on Bumblebee. Whether it was the car thief in him, or just because Bumblebee looked like a kickass car, his gaze turned hungry as he stared at the Camaro.

"I'm sure, Dad." Squinting at the watch to see what could have possibly bothered her father, she noticed it wasn't a watch at all but an extremely compact Geiger counter.

As friendly as he had been when Mikaela had first run into his arms, David was all the more imposing as he stared down at her now. He was staring at her with that look all parents have- the one that says they can read your every thought. "You wouldn't be hiding something from me, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

Sam and Miles quickly caught on to the change in tone between the father-daughter reunion. They didn't like the way David was staring at Bumblebee, and they really didn't like the way Mikaela seemed to be shrinking in front of her father. Unlike Blaster, who kept his distance from the newcomer, the pair moved to flank their friend.

"Look, Mr Banes, sir, there isn't anyone here that shouldn't be here," Sam assured, trying to look as serious as he could. It was hard summoning up a serious face when the man he was facing off with looked like a bear compacted into a human body.

"I can think of one person who shouldn't be here," Chase voice suddenly growled. She'd changed into a pair of jeans and a semi-wrinkled tank top she'd dug out from between the couch cushions, and now loomed darkly in the open doorway.

David tensed as he registered the presence of his younger sister.

"Chase," he grunted curtly.

"David," Chase hissed poisonously. She stalked down the stairs and came abreast of her brother in the same manner a panther would approach a potential enemy. At close range, it was easy to see they were related. It was even easier to see they hated each other, if the way they were sizing each other up was any indication.

One inappropriate thought Sam entertained was that it was like watching one of those documentaries on the National Geographic channel, one where two grizzly bears were facing off. At any given moment, the tension was going to break and they'd go for each other's throats.

"What are you doing here?" Chase snarled, breaking the ominous silence. She glanced to Mikaela to make sure she was alright. If David had tried anything to hurt her, it would be a fight to the death between the siblings. Even if her brother had fifty pounds worth of muscle on her, she'd fight.

"I'm here to see my daughter."

"Bullshit." She stabbed an accusing finger into her brother's chest. "Tell me the real reason or I call the cops."

Faster than what she could have evaded, David had her arm in a vice grip and twisted until he put her to her knees. He bent his head to speak directly into her ear, using his weight to keep Chase on the ground. "I broke your arm once, little sister, I can do it again if you push me."

"I was _eight_, you bastard. I've gotten a little stronger since then," Chase snarled, low enough so they couldn't be overheard. This was an exchange between brother and sister. "You're here for money and don't try to deny it; you ran out and you can't steal a car to make more. Guess the people you're working for ain't cutting it, are they?"

"And if they're not?" David twisted his sister's arm tighter, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing pain. When Sam looked like he was going to try to help, she snapped at him, unwilling to let the kid get hurt by getting mixed up in something that didn't concern him.

"If you're just here for money, then don't fuck with your daughter. For some God awful reason, she loves you and I won't let you hurt her. You want money, you come to me and I'll give it to you, but don't you _dare_ hurt that girl or I swear to God I'll rip you apart." She jerked her head back in hopes of breaking David's nose, but missed. She was shoved to the ground for her troubles, allowed to scramble away so she could take up a protective stance in front of the trio of teens.

"You're still just as bull-headed as ever, little sister," David sneered.

"And you're still a dick head, big brother."

He drew up to his full height. "Look, you don't want me here, and I don't want to screw around with you any longer than I have to." He fixed Chase with a dark glare, daring her to contradict what he was about to say. "I've got a job to do, and either someone around here starts talking, or I'm going to start using some methods of persuasion."

Chase backed up closer to the teens, making sure she had them covered. "You ain't gonna find nothing here that isn't supposed to be here, so _Get. Lost_."

Mikaela made a move to intercede between the two adults, but Sam held her back. "_Are you insane?"_

"They're my family- I can handle them," she hissed under her breath. He released her reluctantly, watching as his ex-girlfriend slid herself between her father and aunt, both of whom towered over her like storm clouds.

"Move your ass, Mickey," Chase growled between clenched teeth.

"No," Mikaela snapped back.

"_Mikaela-!" _

"He's my _dad_, Chase! You can't just tell him to get lost!"

"Watch me!"

David looked more or less moved by his daughter's defence; he appreciated the opportunity it gave him to goad his sister. "You better listen to her, Chase. No sense starting a fight out here when you know I'll win." And as soon as he won, he was going to take whatever he could out of the house, and then he was going to call his employers to get the hell down here to check out the haywire readings he was getting.

"You good for nothing son of a bitch-!"

Movement near the shed announced the entrance of a new face to the fray. He was of similar build to David, but lacked the fierce look all Banes' seemed born with. Regardless of that, when he came to stand at Chase's shoulder in order to shield the teenagers better, he did a very good impression of looking like an intimidating human.

"Is there a problem here?"

"Who the hell are you?" David demanded.

"A friend," Hound informed, warning lacing his voice. He had several hundred vorns worth of warfare on this human and despite his good nature, he was more than happy to use his experience to defend his friend and her family.

Chase, while shocked to see his hologram, was clearly relieved to have some backup. David, on the other hand, found his chances of winning in the eventuality of a fight were no longer in his favour with the appearance of the stranger. As Chase shifted closer to Hound, David backed away. Sam, Miles, and Mikaela, once she'd been dragged back to safety by Sam, gaped openly at the newcomer, marvelling at where the hell he could have come from.

Most miraculously of all, Bumblebee and Blaster suddenly discovered where their long lost comrade had been hiding for the last two months.

The needle of David's not-really-a-watch watch buried itself, looking like it was going to have a nervous breakdown with all the ambient radiation it was detecting. David regarded it for a moment before sighing in disgust. "This is getting absolutely ridiculous." He resigned himself to contacting his goddamn superiors the moment he got hold of a phone, turning to leave for now.

"Dad?"

"Sorry about this, Mickey. I've got to go," he sighed, offering her a distantly ashamed look. He crossed the street in a few long strides, and then was gone in the SUV before anyone could stop him.

Mikaela could only watch as her dad drove away. She was a little dazed, really confused, and in desperate need of a hug. Sam was kind enough to lay a hand to her shoulder, while Miles nervously wondered what to do in situations like this. She relieved both males of trying to come up with a way to comfort her by grabbing them around the necks and hugging them tightly.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, guys," she sniffed, not afraid to cry in front of friends.

Sam rubbed her back, putting aside any awkwardness he felt in order to comfort her. "It's okay," he murmured quietly.

Hound laid a hand to Chase's arm. "Are you alright?" he asked concernedly.

"No, but thanks for backing me up anyways," she sighed, and then looked the hologram up and down critically. "At least you're wearing clothes."

Blaster, who had been all but forgotten by the humans, wandered into the shed and stared sceptically at Hound's alt mode. Turning to the right, he followed his scanners to the source of the faint sensor ghosts that had been bothering him for the last little while, uncovering a small Cybertronian dampener hidden beneath a moth eaten blanket. With a simple flick of a switch, he turned it off and grinned as his resonance scanners quickly identified the hidden Autobot in the area.

"**Long time, no see, old buddy," **Blaster said, thumping Hound happily on the hood.


	22. Goodbyes are Said

My deepest, most profound thanks go out to the most wonderful and kind and dear reviewers of the last chapter, all of whom I am in awe and worship of. Cosmic love to **Litahatchee, Elita One, firebird234, CuteKitten, Goldendreams257, Bunnylass, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, Jason M. Lee, Silveriss, Chloo, gatogirl1**, and **Lecidre**! Truly, a thousand hugs and a universe worth of praise to each of you.

Special love to **Litahatchee** for her funny set of reviews. Very creative, and pissing funny! Thanks so much! You're a real friend who knows how to make me smile in the most unusual of ways! As well, to **Bunnylass,** who blows me away with every review she leaves. Really, my friend, you're beginning to verge of pure epic-ness with your kickass reviews! Thank you so much for the love and support!

_Hound's varying accent- _You'll note in this chapter that Hound doesn't have an accent when he speaks in his native tongue, but when he speaks in English he does revert to using the Southern accent. I know everyone's probably become accustomed to him talking like a hick, but that's just a quirk he's picked up, remember? Originally he doesn't speak with an accent in my continuality. I just wanted to point that out so as to cut down on immediate confusion.

**Read & Review as you please. Love is always appreciated. **

**As We Come Together  
In Which Goodbyes are Said**

Through his journeys across the universe in search of the Allspark, Optimus Prime had come across some very strange things. For instance, planets made completely of water held together by immense gravity wells. Nebulae that the Ark had flown through has turned out to be immense living organisms comprised of gas and plasma. Strange rock worms of a nameless barren world the crews of the _Ark_ and _Nemesis_ had clashed on briefly when their paths crossed. But of all the weird, wonderful, eccentric, or downright outlandish things the Prime had been privileged to witness and experience, the scene he was rolling into on the Banes' front lawn certainly counted for something in the ranks of _strange_.

First, and certainly the most obvious, to be noted was the pair of human females spaced apart on the front lawn. Both were tense; the older one paced like a caged animal along the coarse grass, her eyes wild, her lips pulled back into an obvious snarl, while the younger one stood her ground, arms crossed, scowling stubbornly and ignoring the tear stains that streaked her cheeks. They were screaming at each other.

"-that rat bastard son of a bitch! Where the hell does he get off coming around here like that?"

Mikaela threw her arms up violently. "This is his _home!_ I'm his _daughter!_ Where the fuck did you think he got the idea to come home!"

"I don't ever want to see his fucking face here, Mickey. He's an asshole!"

"You're the one being an asshole, Chase!" Mikaela shrieked.

"That's just because you don't understand right now!" Chase bellowed back. "You don't know what your father can do! What he's capable of! I did you a favour!"

"By sending him _away_?"

_"Yes!_" Her heavy boots tore a streak of dirt in the dry lawn with every turn she paced. "The only reason he came here now was for money. That's all he ever wants."

"That's not true-!"

"_It is_." She snorted harshly. "I'll rip him a new one if I ever see his face again."

"You're lucky he didn't break your arm this time, or _worse," _Mikaela growled darkly.

Chase drew up to her full height, all six feet and three inches of it. "Who gives a fuck what he does to me? All I cared about was making sure nothing happened to you!"

Mikaela's hand gestured wildly to the driveway. "If Hound hadn't stepped in when he did, you would have gotten your ass handed to you."

Chase drew back as if she'd been slapped. "Don't you dare bring Hound into this."

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't so hell-bent on trying to fight the world!"

"I was trying to protect you!"

Fed up with hearing that she needed protection from her own father, Mikaela released a breath of frustration, exclaiming, "You're damn lucky Hound was in the shed!"

"Okay, fine, you wanna hear that I was lucky? Fine; I was damn lucky. I admit it. Happy?" Chase spat on the ground, shoving her hands into her pockets dourly. Her eyes flicked once from Hound and the two Autobots now flanking him in the driveway, to her niece, who was far too comfortable with the aliens' presences for Chase's liking. "But what I _really_ want to know here is where the hell do you get off not telling me you're best friends with the alien robots?"

It was an obvious subject change that was offered as a stubborn truce where no one had to apologize. Mikaela accepted it with little resistance. She opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly interrupted.

"-_How_ is it that I find out only _ten minutes ago_ that you've known about them for months? You can't even keep your mouth shut about what happened at school on any given day!"

Mikaela frowned darkly: the reason she didn't hold back from Chase wasn't because she was a brainless chatter-bug, but because it was nice to talk with her only family once in a while, and because Chase honestly didn't care what horrible tales of debauchery Mikaela brought home from school, be it the latest who-slept-with-who rumour, STD scares, or drug and/or alcohol related videos that made it to YouTube. None of this seemed to be of particular consequence at the moment, so instead Mikaela countered scathingly-

"I didn't see you coming clean about the alien you had living in the shed for two months!"

"That's because I thought you'd piss yourself if you ever knew about him!"

"Shows what little faith you have in me!"

Somewhere in the back of their minds, they knew they should be lowering their voices when shouting about the existence of aliens, but rationality was never anyone's gift when angry. For the most part, the few trick-or-treaters who wandered around the street didn't dare come close enough to hear the argument properly. And if their verbal grappling wasn't enough to be slightly daunting, there was a simultaneous conversation going on at slightly lower decibels. That didn't mean that the conversation was any less animated, as far as Miles' contributions to the dialogue went. The utter contrast between the two exchanges taking place was a little mind-boggling.

"I mean, seriously- the _Jeep,_ man. _The Jeep_! Who would have guessed?"

"Apparently no one, since he's been here the entire time."

"But don't you think that's the coolest thing there ever was on the face of the planet? The alien _is_ the Jeep! Or wait- is it the Jeep is the alien?"

Sam sighed. "Hound is the Jeep and the Jeep is Hound. Leave it at that before you hurt yourself trying to think about it."

Undaunted by the barely-masked insult, Miles pressed on happily. "It's like every dream I ever had is coming true like a sci-fi version of Cinderella, only I'm not in a dress and nobody's going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight…" He paused for a moment. "No one's going to turn into a pumpkin, right?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Sam replied with a roll of his eyes. Most of his attention remained diverted to Mikaela. After what had transpired with David, he was worried for her wellbeing. This might not have been the first fight he'd witnessed between Mikaela and her aunt, and, as he understood it, they had regular fights around the same time every month that lasted for about a week, but that didn't stop him from being concerned.

Miles was doing his best not to contemplate the volatilities of female grudge matches, sticking to subjects far more familiar to him. "Aliens are freaking _everywhere_, Sam. They might not be pumpkins, but they're _everywhere_."

"They're not _everywhere, _Miles. They just tend to show up a lot around _here,_" Sam dutifully corrected.

"It's like a conspiracy! Just think about it- they could be anywhere right now, hiding in plain sight-!"

"Don't get carried away."

"They could be anything-!"

"You're getting a _little_ carried away."

"They could even be my _car_!"

Sam sighed again, scrubbing his face. "…Miles, I'm pretty sure no self-respecting Cybertronian would trans-scan your car even if you _paid_ him."

These conversations were not the only ones that Prime was assailed by as he approached. Despite the curious nature of each, and the odd cacophony they created as they overlapped, it was nothing compared to the oddity that arose when a third party was added to the mix. Despite the fact that the third conversation was being held at frequencies too high for humans to hear, Optimus was able to hear it just fine and was ultimately surprised to find that it was being held at a perfect parallel to the two others without even missing a stride. In fact, they carried on relatively normally despite any snarling or excited exclamations that might arise from the humans.

"**-the only thing ya had to mask your signature with was this scrap heap dampener? Primus, either that's the most amazing case of sheer dumb luck I've ever heard, or Ratchet's really got to take a look at the rest of our sensors." **Blaster was shaking his head, torn between humour and disbelief. In light of the fact that several little humans had already wandered by dressed in primitively designed space suits and misinformed versions of aliens, he'd decided to drop his hologram and go _au naturel_. According to some passersby, he had the best costume they'd ever seen.

"**Hey now, I wouldn't call my dampener a scrap heap, per say," **Hound countered. **"You gotta understand, I didn't have a lot to work with. I only had what I could salvage from my frame and what Chase allowed me to take from her yard. I did my best with what I had."**

"**I think it's really quite amazing that you've been able to survive this long with such limited resources and yet stay completely undetected. I never would have thought of taking out my signature modulator to reconfigure as a dampener. It's even more amazing that you managed to incorporate it into a damaged primitive car radio to amplify its range." **

"**Aw shucks, Bumblebee, I didn't do anything special. You just learn to improvise when you're ****stuck in situations like that." **

"**Take a compliment, Hound. Bumblebee's right, I don't know how the frag ya managed to keep yourself hidden for this long under everyone's olfactory sensors. I mean, why didn't ya just give a shout out ta Mikaela or Sam or someone when ya saw them?"**

"**That was one of my major problems," **he sighed. **"Most of my short term memory files were corrupted from the initial infection. Anything prior to planet fall by a couple orns is pretty much a blur. I couldn't even tell you Bumblebee's English designation, to be honest. Looking at Mikaela and Sam now, I don't even recognize them one bit," **Hound admitted sheepishly.

"**Don't worry about it, Hound. I'm sure they understand why you didn't recognize them; a virus, even a moderate one like a Mu class, is nothing to laugh it," **Bumblebee assured.

"**I'll be glad to finally be rid of it," **the Jeep sighed.

"**I bet you will be," **Blaster laughed. Were their positions reversed and it was he who was cut off from all forms of communication, he would have gone crazy by now. **"Bet you'll be happy to be up and walkin' about, recharging on your own berth instead of in a musty ol' shed. Mirage and Smokescreen'll be more than happy ta have you back. They got a real kick out of learning where you've been this whole time, real amazed you didn't even register as a blip. It's not like ya have most low key alien on the planet ta help ya stay hidden, either." **Blaster smirked, nodding to Chase, who continued to pace the lawn. **"Fraggin' feral is what she is."**

"**She's not always like that, she's just a little worked up right now," **Hound countered, sighing. **"Chase has done a lot to take care of me and make sure I've been comfortable. She may seem a little **_**wilder**_ **than the other humans, but give her a chance to calm down and you'll see how gentle she really can be. Some humans just got short tempers, you know? Like us. She's real nice when you give her the chance."**

"**Hound, you're way too nice of a mech," **Blaster laughed. **"I'm all for giving a new species a go, an' this one is probably one of the more interesting ones I've come across, but you'd give **_**anyone**_ **a chance to be nice. Even Unicron, I'd wager." **

The Jeep sighed, wanting to shake his head but knew it was impossible in alt mode. **"If you got to know her, you'd see she has a real spark in her-."**

"**Heart," **Bumblebee corrected automatically.

"**Oh, right, **_**heart.**_ **Thanks, Bee." **

"**Whether that human got a spark in her or a heart, it don't stop her from being meaner than a cornered turbo-fox," **Blaster teased. He wasn't being harsh, just brutally honest. **"Ratchet's gonna bust ya a new one when he finds out ya let a little primitive alien try and patch ya up, all the while being infected with a virus, too. I'm surprised he didn't start having a temper tantrum over the comms when we first got a hold of the base." **

"**So long as he can purge the virus, I don't care what Ratchet does to me," **Hound asserted. **"I've been near out of my processor sitting here orn after orn with nothing but Chase and a radio for company; I don't care if Ratchet's breaths fire down my servos, just so long as I can listen to someone talking in Cybertronian." **

"**You **_**must**_** be desperate," **Blaster snorted.

"**Just a little bit." **

"**Well, you're in luck," **Bumblebee chuckled. **"Optimus and the others are here. I'm sure they'll be ****more than happy to give you an audio full." **

Up to this point, Optimus was rather confident that the strangeness of the situation was at its maximum; nothing could possibly be stranger than listening to three clashing and unrelated conversations at once while navigating down a narrow street covered in younglings as they scurried about in costumes demanding candy from strangers. Most of the humans he had driven by so far tonight seemed to be under the impression that his paint job was part of the Halloween festivities; he had been shouted at no less that 12 times by humans letting him know he looked _'wicked' _and his picture had been taken by pedestrians no less than 17 times. Coming to a halt at the curb of the Banes' lawn before a tiny plastic bucket filled with candy (the sign on it proclaiming _'take some and get lost'), _Optimus found that things really could be a tad stranger. The instant his engine cut, all three conversations instantaneously stopped, four sets of organic eyes swivelling to stare and three Cybertronians easing around to face him. They just stared, all of them, silently, as if suddenly struck dumb in his presence.

As good-naturedly as he was reported to be, Optimus rumbled a bit of laughter and directed his next words to Hound, who he identified as the Jeep Gladiator sitting idle with Bumblebee and Blaster. **"It's good to see you hail and whole, my friend."**

"**Optimus Prime, sir?" **the green Jeep asked expectantly, looking as hopeful as a blank-faced vehicle could. He rolled forward a few feet, paused, and then leaned forward hopefully, as if trying in vain to register Optimus's spark resonance. When he failed to do so, he sunk in disappointment, to which Optimus couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.

"**You're not seeing things, Hound. I really am here," **the Autobot leader assured warmly. He wished to transform and embrace the long-hidden scout, but refrained from doing so in such a public place. Even once they returned to the base, welcoming Hound into the fold may be put on hold until Mirage and Smokescreen had their fill of their teammate. Understandably, they were anxious to have Hound back.

"**That's what I was hoping for, sir." **Just hearing Optimus's voice was like a balm, a very deep, calming baritone balm. Were Hound able to cry as a human could, he would have been bawling out of pure relief. **"You have no idea how happy I am to see you."**

"**I believe I have an idea, if you are half as happy to see me as I am to know you are alive and doing well," **Optimus replied in earnest. There were no words to describe how happy anyone was at that moment after so long of not knowing where their poor friend could be, so many days and nights spent driving through countless states in search of him, and even relying peripherally on the tracking expertise of Barricade to see if he could locate Hound in Canada. It was beyond relieving to see him here now.

A grumbling Search & Rescue Hummer rolled up next to the curb, catching the tale end of Optimus's well wishes. **"Alive, yes, but we'll see about how well he's doing,"** Ratchet grumped, wasting no time issuing a medical scan. He was glad to see the scout in his own Ratchet-the-Hatchet sort of way, but Ratchet-love was hard to distinguish from normal ornery moods so one had to look for the subtle differences carefully. **"Mu-class viruses are a pain to purge; it'll be an entire orn sorting through all your communication files to get all the virus out. Nasty fraggers, like to embed themselves to everything…"**

"**It's good to see you too, Ratchet," **Hound greeted warmly, attempting to roll forward again, but halted when the medic harrumphed at him.

"**Stay still, you half-bit. I'm scanning for damages." **

"**Oh, sorry." **

Optimus chuckled and decided to engage the eager Autobot in a little conversation while Ratchet went about his function. Hound was all too happy to inform his leader of the wonders he had encountered and the adventures he'd been privy to during his immersion amongst the humans. Bumblebee and Blaster had largely already heard the story, so felt inclined to wander off a short ways to where Sam and the other humans had retreated. Optimus held a greater interest in Hound's tales, listening as the scout gained in enthusiasm when speaking of the human ally he had gained, who the semi surmised was the female he was unfamiliar with standing near, but not with, Sam and the others. She was relatively unextraordinary aside from her unusual height and particularly fierce-looking disposition.

Ratchet sighed, cutting into the current topic to express his displeasure at what condition he was discovering Hound to be in. **"Just look at you," **The medic grumbled. **"Better off than I feared, but worse than I hoped." **

"**Aside from a little stiffness here and there, I feel fine," **Hound assured lightly.

"**I'm sure you must be exaggerating, Ratchet," **Optimus said humouredly. **"Hound's damages can't be as bad as you make them out to be if he'd been functioning relatively fine for the last few orns. The virus must be the worst of it." **

"**Says you," **Ratchet huffed. **"It'll be orns cleaning him up." **

"**Not that it didn't normally take orns to clean him up," **Blaster cut in quickly, glancing up from his current English conversation to reveal that he was still peripherally listening. Everyone in the Autobots, even the long separated _Ark_ crew, were well aware of Hound's funny quirk of 'forgetting' the wash rack part of keeping up with maintenance.

Hound was about to point out that he had something just as good as the wash racks around here, which involved a human, a hose, and aggravating said human in just the right way to make her give him a wash while making it seem like it was her idea, but decided it was best to leave that for another time. Though he could not see her at present, since she had backed off a distance upon Optimus's arrival, he had the distinct feeling Chase was glaring. He wanted to go to her and reassure her of Optimus's presence, but knew that it would do little good when he knew it had taken her the better part of two months to warm up to him.

Ratchet was kind enough to bring everyone's attention back to Hound's utter lack of ability to do maintenance for himself, not only in regards to cleaning. **"Never mind the wash racks cleaning, it'll be joors and joors of my time just trying to sort him out. Maybe even **_**orns**_**." **He huffed and grumbled, directing his frustrations to the mech in question. **"Your filters are clogged with dirt and, for some Primus forsaken reason, **_**algae**_**, your energon stores are at a bare minimum, at best, and all the rerouting you've done to supplement the damages have caused serious shortages throughout all major circuit conduits. I'm going to have to rewire half your frame, but that's only if I have enough wire fabricated here. If not, you'll just have to suffer without. Not to mention, for a Cybertronian, Hound, your welding skills are absolutely **_**horrendous**_**! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you let a **_**human **_**try to fix you-."**

Blaster and Bumblebee simultaneously burst into unhelpful laughter, leaving Hound to flounder helplessly. The humans perked up on this slight hiccough, Sam being familiar enough with the Cybertronian language to be able to distinguish laughter, which he relayed to the other curious teens. Hound was unconcerned with the teens, his attentions instantly diverting to Chase as he _sensed_ her immediate reaction, tensing, anticipating the need to move in. Therein laid the danger. If she moved in to defend him, there was a chance that she'd reveal exactly who had done the welding, which would put her in more than a little danger. Unwilling to place Chase in such a position, Hound subtly moved, as subtly as a Jeep his size could, to block her from view.

"**Did it all by myself, Ratchet, no humans involved." **He sighed rather convincingly. **"I guess I'm just rusty with my field repairs, that's all." **He paused for an astrosecond, trying to reconcile with himself what he was about to say. **"I'd never let a primitive little human work on me like that- who knows what kinds of damages they could inflict while trying to help me? No, I thought it was better to attempt the repairs myself, which obviously didn't go as well as I'd hoped. Won't happen again, I promise." **

This only seemed to cause Blaster and Bumblebee to laugh harder, which spurred Sam to demand what was so funny. The pair were reluctant to give the game away in English, knowing that Ratchet would hear them and go nuclear no matter what language they used.

Ratchet took his time measuring the worth of the words before conceding a reluctant answer. It was obvious he was questioning the truth behind Hound's quick defence. **"See that it doesn't happen again." **

"**It won't," **Hound readily assured.

"_**Ever."**_

"**Of course."**

"**You'd be better off leaving yourself untreated than subjecting yourself to such mediocre repairs. Our technologies are supremely advanced compared to theirs and I would hate to see anyone damaged further by making the foolhardy mistake of letting an untrained alien attempt such complicated procedures-" **

**"Yes, yes, I'll keep that in mind for next time," **Hound assured impatiently, disgruntled. He didn't blame Ratchet for his opinions; medical procedures _did _require some expertise and a little knowledge of the species being attended to, but Chase had done rather well for a creature receiving only partial instruction from Hound himself as she went about patching him up. She at least wasn't ignorant to the processes of welding itself. **"I thought she did a rather good job for her first time-."**

"_**She?" **_

**"Oh, I mean-_."_**

_**"She? **_**As in a** _**human?**_"

**"Well, you see, the circumstances were rather unusual at the time-." **

"**By the unholy powers of the pit, you better not have let a half-bit fragging human raise a welding torch to you-!"**

Hound backed away quickly as Ratchet advanced across the lawn in a rather menacing manner. Before the medic had a chance to whip into a frothing tirade, Chase was suddenly fitting herself between them, her back pushed hard against Hound's grill as if to force him back towards the shelter of the house. Not surprised to see her running to his defence, Hound nonetheless halted. Ratchet slowed to a drag, and then halted all together when he realized the human wasn't moving. Chase was a stranger, and therefore he didn't know how to react to her. Chase, on the other hand, knew exactly how to react to him. Her back tensed, shoulders going up, eyes narrowing.

"Come any closer, you tin can, and I'll rip you a new exhaust hole."

Surprised by the display hostility, Ratchet managed an incredulous, _"I beg your pardon?" _

"You heard me- lay a hand on Hound and you get a one way ticket to a car compactor," Chase snarled, fists clenched so tightly at her sides that the knuckles bleached.

Mikaela was quick to jump to her aunt's side, trying in vain to pull her away. "That's just Ratchet, Chase. He's the Autobot's medic. He's not going to hurt anyone."

"Not any humans, anyways," the medic asserted, which only served to have Chase plant herself more firmly before Hound.

"I ain't moving nowhere until he backs off," she growled, shaking her niece off.

"Chase, don't be a bitch. I'm serious, just move away," Mikaela insisted.

"No. I don't know what this is about, but I damn well ain't gonna let all my hard work keeping this idiot safe go down the pipes by letting this box-on-wheels come after him."

Optimus rumbled gently, commending the human for her spirit. "Ratchet, do as she says," he insisted. "There's no harm in backing off for now."

"It was probably her who did the welding, anyways," Ratchet grumbled darkly as he backed off.

Chase moved to Hound's side, laying a hand to his hood. "So what if I was? You wanted him to leak to death instead?"

"_No,_ he wouldn't," Optimus interceded calmly before Chase could be introduced to some very real and very terrifying dangers. Ratchet fell back like an apocalypse contained, albeit thinly so. "Quite the opposite, _I_ would like to offer my deepest thanks for taking care of our long-lost comrade here. If there is anything we can do to repay you for this kindness-."

"A new Jeep would be nice," she cut in flatly. "You know, to replace the one _he_ landed on." She gave Hound a good slap. "Your thanks is great and all, and I bet you're real happy to have Hound back, but for all the warm fuzzies you're experiencing, I'm out one Jeep, which means a couple hundred thousand dollars down the shitter." She shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be cutting deals with a talking truck. Optimus, for the most part, found it quite refreshing to encounter a human who did not so much as bat an eyelash at his presence upon first encounters. Her heartbeat was elevated, yes, but her demeanour showed she was covering up any anxiousness she might be feeling with a successful mask of determined stubbornness.

Hound sighed, a little embarrassed to be reminded of his own folly. "Ah really did land on her vehicle. Ah owe her that much, at least."

"It'll be replaced as soon as possible, then," Optimus informed.

"Good, and it better not be an alien Jeep. I want a one hundred percent Earth vehicle," Chase warned.

"Of course, I'll see to it that a completely earth-bound Jeep is put in your possession, inanimate and non-sentient. It would be the least we can do in return for everything you have done for Hound." Optimus was interested to find that the minor praise seemed to make the female a little uncomfortable. She kicked the dirt, diverting her gaze.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just take him away already, will ya? I want to get back to my normal, miserable life as soon as possible and the one thing stopping that process happens to be sitting on my front lawn." She sighed, suddenly finding her strength gone. She didn't want to deal with this anymore. "I'm tired and I'm sick of putting up with all this- just… just get rid of him already. Take him home. Do whatever. _Please_."

Hound wished he could transform to peer at Chase, suddenly curious, and more than a little hurt, by her words. "Chase-?"

"Hound, don't. I don't want to hear anything from you." When the Autobot leaned towards her, she backed up. "We both knew this was a temporary arrangement, so don't bother getting sappy on me. We made nice, had some laughs, made a friend, but now it's time to rejoin reality. You go your way, I go mine, and the universe keeps spinning." She wandered along his side until she reached his tailgate, giving him a good shove as she had the day she'd tried to push him into the lake. "Just go already. Be free. You don't have to be stuck here anymore."

"Is that what ya really want? Me ta go?"

"Yeah, that _is_ what I want." No, it wasn't, and she knew it. She wanted to take him out on the town like she said she would and get a good laugh out of him as he fumbled his way around. She wanted to pretend he was a friend for a little while longer. She wanted to stay in Wonderland, or Oz, or whatever crazy, mixed-up dream world she'd dropped into for a bit longer. It was nice having someone like Hound around to talk to- he never seemed to be too bothered by her attitudes, and he was always happy to see her wander into the shed. But wanting more of that was wrong; it was selfish to want Hound around when he finally found his real friends and could go home. It was only right to get rid of him before either of them could get more attached. "I just want my life back, Hound. The one you _weren't_ in. And you really need to get back to yours."

"Yeah... Ah guess that's what Ah'll do, then." There was no masking the hurt that struck the green mech, his alt mode sinking. It hurt more than he thought it would to know he wasn't wanted any more. He couldn't summon himself to say anything more, knowing very well that their friendship had been a doomed one from the beginning, and he had gotten attached regardless of knowing that. He had no right to ask for more.

Optimus sighed, sobered by the pair's disheartening parting words. "Seeing as our welcome appears to have abruptly come to an end, I do believe we should be on our way now. Again, you have our thanks, Chase Banes." His engine started up with a deep, earth-rumbling growl, followed quickly by Ratchet's, Bumblebee's, and lastly Hound's. Blaster was quick to hop inside Bumblebee before he rolled out onto the road.

"Should we go too, man? I mean, didn't Bee say they were sending some people out to catch that guy? If they do, shouldn't Mikaela be there?" Miles asked quietly.

Sam glanced to Mikaela, who looked at a loss for anything in particular. He shook his head decidedly. "Nah, give her time to cool off and sort things out first. If they catch him, she'll have plenty of time to see her dad later. For now… I don't know, we'll take her to my place for the night- do a movie marathon or something. I don't want to leave her alone here."

"'Kay." Miles was a little disappointed not be going back to base, but refrained from saying so. Sam was the unspoken leader of this new little trio of theirs and Miles didn't have the heart to be disrupting the delicate balance so soon.

Optimus took the lead of the little caravan, Bumblebee coming in to take up an honorary spot behind him, Ratchet easing off to the rear to allow Hound before him so he could keep an optic on the scout during the drive. Hound was hesitant to take his place in the line up, inching forward at first, and then halting, leaning back, suddenly unsure.

"Hound? What's wrong? You've said your goodbyes; it's time to go home now," Optimus reminded softly.

The Jeep stood firm, coming to a decision. "Give me an astrosecond, Optimus. Ah still have a few things left to do before Ah go."

"We don't have all night, you know," Ratchet huffed in irritation.

It was plain to see, despite his being in alt mode, that Hound had many things left to say, and not enough time to say them. Optimus decided they were in no hurry to go anywhere yet, letting Hound have his time with his friend. "Let him be for now, Ratchet. You'll have him all you want when we get back. A few more breems won't hurt anyone."

"Thank you, Optimus," Hound replied gently, sincerely. With the strange sixth sense he'd developed for picking up where Chase was without using his proximal sensors, he knew she was on the stairs, paused at the front door, listening to them. She didn't want to go inside before he left. He didn't bother to give a warning as he activated his hologram next to her.

"_What are you doing?"_ she hissed, finding herself suddenly crowded by a human lookalike towering over her, close.

Hound, to be honest, had no idea what he was doing, other than trying to say something to her. The hologram was just there to make it easier. "Ah never got ta say thank ya mahself," he began.

"You don't have to. We're even," Chase asserted curtly, moving to yank open the door, running away. Hound was quick, stilling her arm, his own hand resting over hers in a good facsimile of what real flesh would feel like, warm and calloused and strong.

"How are we even?"

Chase's eyes were fixed to the doorknob, speaking directly to it instead of to Hound or any other listening body in the yard. "It doesn't matter. We just are. Now let me go, Hound. You have to leave and I don't like drawn out goodbyes."

"Please tell me before Ah go. At least give me that much. After that, Ah'll leave."

She listened to his voice, to the deep, soothing, sincere tone, and regretted doing so because it made her want to give in. "…It was nice having a friend around, okay?" Her voice lowered so no one could overhear her next words, even though it was really useless when the nearby Autobots could hear a pin drop from a mile away. "And that thing with David earlier- helping me protect Mickey..." She glanced up at him, unaccustomed to having to look up to anyone, and Hound saw sincerity in her dark eyes. "It meant more to me than you'll ever know. She means everything to me. That's why we're even. Got it?"

"If you say so." Hound dared a smile, always charmed when he caught a glimpse of Chase's well-hidden heart. He wanted to give her a proper goodbye, which was hard when he had no idea what to do for a human goodbye. He opted for the Cybertronian route, which was the easiest and least complicated, hoping he didn't get a fist in the holo-stomach for his trouble. Chase's entire body went rigid when Hound's hands moved for her face, palms cupping her cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles where they laid. He angled her face upwards, examining her eyes, finding them reddened around the edges and glazed with held-back moisture. She looked at him with an expression of abject fear and outrage.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're-."

"It's not what ya think," he laughed, shushing her. The hologram moved, bending, his forehead coming to press against Chase's. It was a warm gesture, and the sensation was soft. It was different from how two Cybertronians would touch foreheads- no metal crests to get in the way, no odd features or metal slates to get caught together; human flesh was far more pliant, shaping and moving to fit together. Their noses brushed. Their hair tangled. He sensed her confusion and couldn't help but be charmed by it.

"It's a Cybertronian form of affection," Hound elaborated. "Even if we are even, Ah still want to say thank you for everything you've done for me. You were a real life saver, and Ah'll always be in you're debt for that, whether ya like it or not." He smiled sincerely. "If there's anything ya ever need-."

Chase nodded, eyes closed. "Just call, got it."

"Yeah, just call." He rubbed his forehead to hers, then backed away. When she opened her eyes again, the hologram was already gone.

"Bye, Hound," she said, managing a weak smile to the green Jeep she was finding herself more fond of than she'd realized.

"Bye, Chase," Hound replied, as sincere as he'd ever been in his life. He finally rolled off the front lawn and took his place in the line up.

Optimus was as patient as always, albeit intrigued by what he'd just witnessed. "Ready to go now?"

"Yes sir, Ah think Ah am."

"Then let's roll out." He led the short procession away, disappearing from view around the far corner of the street amidst a few applauding humans who had thought the whole thing had been a very elaborate Halloween gimmick. Pictures were taken, which the Autobots endured with good humour. They didn't suspect the human youngling in the cardboard robot costume snapping pictures was part of the SkyWatch conspiracy.

What they missed in the aftermath of their departure was Chase's face falling into a deep scowl, a harsh hand wiping ruthlessly at her eyes. Mikaela was suddenly at her elbow, standing a step below her, concern in her eyes. Brushing her off, there was only one thing left in Chase's mind.

"I need a drink."


	23. Not Really Crazy

Alright, my readers of the fine art of Transformers fanfiction, here is the long awaited chapter 23! Lock yourselves away from reality for a moment or two as I invite you to sink a little deeper in a world not quite your own. There will be happiness, and there will be tears, but this is a universe fraught with realities and impossibilities, so there could be none without the other. Latch on to a character, if you will. Try to get into her or his head, figure them out, feel for them as they live and struggle. Imagine how their spark pulses in time to your heartbeat as you read. This is a world I've created for you all; I've put all my soul and talents into it, but that is not to say you do not have a place in here too. There are situations you may connect to, characters you feel for. Do so freely. Feel no shame. Love as they love, and hate as they hate. The WE universe id for everyone! Let me know if I've been doing my job as a writer right~

Much love and hugs to my reviewers of the last chapter~ I was completely blown away by the response I got. You reviewers are truly my inspiration for everything that goes on in my fics. Greatest of love and thanks to **redfox12, Jason M. Lee, Flameshield, Black Dragon, Elita One, Bluebird Soaring, theshadowcat, Litahatchee, Silveriss, Bunnylass, Chloo, Lady Tecuma, CuteKitten**, and **Lecidre!** I have gone back so many dozens of times just to read your reviews for further inspiration. Your words mean more to me than I can ever possibly convey, and I will be forever grateful to you all for taking the time to write a few words out for me.

Much hugs, love, and Hound in a handbasket to **Bunnylass,** **Litahatchee**, and **Lecidre** for their thoughtful, heartfelt, and overall awesome reviews~ You three are like angels, I swear. I've read and re-read your reviews so many times I could probably recite them from memory by now. I have no idea how I've come to incite such love for my fics from you three, but I am so humbled by your praise and love. This chapter is for the three of you! I hope you enjoy!

For dear, dear **Bunnylass**, I wish you the best of the best, all the cosmic love and hugs I can summon. You, my dear, hit this fic's **300th** review!!!!! If we weren't seperated by an ocean, I'd hug you! Instead, we'll have to make due with some heartfelt cyber-hugs! You're the best!

Everyone celebrate with me! 300 Reviews~ *Groovey dance boogie!!*

_Russian Roulette- _the real game of Russian Roulette, for those who don't know, is a lethal game of fate; a single round is placed in a revolver, the barrel is spun, and then the muzzle is placed to the player's head and the trigger is pulled. There are various different forms of the game, but it is usually played with a six-shot revolver, meaning players only have a 1/6th chance of living to the next round.

_Ratchet's Fix It File- _Some of you will remember Ratchet giving Wheeljack a chip with a copy of all his medical programming in a memory featured in _What Time We Have Left_. Ratchet's Fix It File is referring that that.

_Patchwork- _An OC I created and used in _What Time We Have Left_, he was Ratchet's mentor. An extremely grumpy mech, Patchwork deleted his social subroutines in order to make more room for medical programming when an epidemic broke out on Cybertron, thus the aft Ratchet gets stuck with.

_Wrenchwire- _Pretty much the antithesis of Patchwork, Wrenchwire is a mech of barely lucid scheming and fun. Ever since 'gender' had been introduced Cybertron through contact with organics, he fell in love with the novelty of it and refers to anything he's built or worked on as a she, and that includes mech frames that he's built.

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Wheeljack is not really Crazy**

"You almost done in there?"

Ratchet glanced up over Hound's prone frame to the berth parallel to one he was currently working at. "No."

"Do you know when you're going to be done?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Any chance of bringing Hound back online any time soon?"

"The possibility is there, but asking me the same question every few breems won't make me work any faster." Ratchet then paused, glanced over to his small assistant, and shook his head. "The setting's too high on that laser; you'll burn a hole through the filter before you get rid of all the algae festering there."

Bumblebee drew back for an instant, checking his settings, and then adjusting them when he discovered them to be too high, as Ratchet suggested. "Thanks," he said lightly before going back to his designated task of cleaning out the effected filters. It was a minute task, requiring small hands and a steady aim in order to get at the small, exposed filters raised from Hound's energon lines, but Bumblebee was willing to endure the task for his friend. To be perfectly honest, it wouldn't be the first time he had had to help clean Hound's filters; the mech went through filters like some mechs went through burned out wiring.

"You could have left him online for that, you know," Smokescreen pouted.

Ratchet did not bother to offer a second glance up, continuing his task of dislodging the crudely welded planks of metal from Hound's armor, clearing out the corroded wiring beneath. "Yes, I _could_ have left him online for the cleaning, but I'm also running the purge sequence on him, and for that I needed him _offline_." With an absent gesture, the medic motioned to the series of thick cables hooked up at intervals around Hound's frame, one connected to his interface port, a few attached to his head where the armor had been removed to expose his CPU, and a number snaking their way beneath the armor of his limbs to the major circuit boards in those areas. "Unless, of course, you would have _preferred_ Hound online while his processor is being purged of the virus."

"Of course not," the tactician replied with a curt shake of his head. There was nothing pleasant about feeling cold, impartial programs invade every inch of your processor and pick it apart to delete all fragments of a virus that may or may not be there; it was a small blessing for Hound to be offline for the experience, which Smokescreen would not wish any other way. He watched Ratchet for a moment longer, noting the vague look of satisfaction the medic sported as he dug into Hound's limp frame. The slightly disturbed feeling Ratchet's expression prompted in the tactician was enough to impel his next question:

"Are you getting some sick sense of revenge by picking on him while he's offline?"

Ratchet set aside the torch he'd employed to cut away a particularly thick slab of black metal. "No, of course not," he asserted as he scanned beyond the removed metal, sighed at what he found, and then reached in and started pulling things out at tandem with a little more relish than necessary.

Smokescreen winced. "Are you _sure_ you're not enjoying yourself?"

"No, but I'll enjoy making another patient out of you if you don't mute it."

"Ah- fair enough." Smokescreen sighed, adjusting himself to be more comfortable. He privately lamented over his decision to stay with Hound, having volunteered to alert Mirage the moment their comrade came back online. It was the least the tactician could do for his friend-slash-commander, seeing as the Master Spy was having trouble reconciling himself to the condition of his closest friend.

"How long is the purging going to take?" Smokescreen asked, if only the break the silence the med bay had fallen into as he'd allowed his thoughts to drift.

"The same amount of time it's going to take without you asking the question, so don't bother asking anymore," Ratchet informed.

Bumblebee took pity on the tactician, offering a more satisfying answer. "The full purging should only take a couple more joors. Two Earth days at most."

Smokescreen nodded, unconcerned with the Earth references; he hadn't been exposed long enough to the planet's time increments or its people to care much. "Celebrations are going to have to hold off until then, huh?"

"I suppose so," Bumblebee replied sympathetically.

"I guess there's no helping it. As long as Hound is repaired and functional again, it shouldn't matter how long it takes."

"I don't recall you ever being so optimistic at Iacon," the scout said gently, smiling as if he knew exactly where Smokescreen's turn of optimism came from.

"It's a new acquirement," the tactician replied noncommittally. "I'm trying the optimism on for size, but it's not like he's making it any easier for me. I was kind of expecting a little bit more of a reunion, you know?"

"I know," Bumblebee answered dutifully.

Smokescreen nodded absently, heaving a great sigh. "I guess we missed out when Prime ordered Mirage and Ironhide to go after Simmons and that other human. I didn't even get two words in edgewise before dear Ratchet here slapped Hound offline."

"The sooner I had him offline, the sooner I could get to work. There was no point dragging the act out," Ratchet cut in gruffly. "And, have I mentioned that talking about me like I'm not here won't bring him online any faster either?"

"No, not yet," Smokescreen replied nonchalantly.

"Then let me point out to you that it _won't._"

The tactician rolled over onto his side, quickly forming a new tactic of entertainment to supplement his extreme boredom, dangerous as the game may be. "Is my talking bothering you?"

"Frankly, yes."

"Well, that's not good."

"No, it's not."

"What do you propose I should do to correct the situation?" he asked with just the right amount of teasing to irk the medic more.

"Go away."

"And leave Hound to your mercies all alone? That's too cruel, Ratchet."

The medic fixed the midnight-blue mech with a downright black stare. He was being as patient as his programming would allow, understanding the bond of friendship forged between the crew of the _Uller_ was not something to deny, but a line had to be drawn _somewhere_. "Smokescreen, you and I both know that Hound is _offline_; he can't see you, hear you, or sense you. Go away for now and I'll contact you when I've accomplished something."

"I won't do that to Hound, Ratch'. No way is he gonna online in this med bay with only you for company; he didn't do anything wrong to deserve that kind of punishment." Smokescreen replied firmly, stretching out. "Besides, I'm starting to see why Sunstreaker and Sideswipe enjoyed bothering you so much; there's a certain satisfaction that comes from playing with certain death."

At the mention of the Twins, Ratchet's faceplate instantly darkened into an expression of palpable danger. "Do _not _mention those depraved little pit-spawn in my med bay," the medic growled. "_Especially_ when I hold one of your friends at my mercy; that's a gamble even you wouldn't dare take." He whacked Hound's limp frame for good measure.

Smokescreen backed down, quickly discovering that Hound's safety, and more importantly _his own_, weren't worth the risk. Bothering Ratchet would just have to remain the Twins' domain for now.

Bumblebee waited until what felt like the appropriate amount of time after such a threat to speak again, peering over his shoulder to address Smokescreen. "So, you're still a gambler?"

"Yeah, although it definitely seems I'm a little less so now than I was before," the tactician laughed a little haplessly.

"Ratchet has that effect on bots," Bumblebee assured, though voiced the statement fondly enough so as not to irk the medic who was not even an arm's length away.

"I'm beginning to remember that," Smokescreen nodded. "Used to be so fun to gamble away with things, credits mostly, but there was always that bet or two with a little more spice…" His expression faltered for an astrosecond. "Now, of course… well-." It had been a private agreement between himself, Blaster, and Mirage that the _Ark_ Autobots simply weren't ready for hard truth about their brethren still fighting. They didn't want to be the ones to tell Prime. Wheeljack had been left out of their confidence on the matter, hoping he was too absorbed in his eccentricities to reveal much of anything. "Now is a little different, if you know what I mean."

The minibot nodded, not sure how to answer but unwilling to appear ignorant. "Humans have many forms of gambling… this country even has a city-shrine erected in honor of it and every other sordid activity they can commit. They call the city Las Vegas."

"A planet with a shrine to gambling? Sounds like my kind of place," Smokescreen laughed.

"It does, doesn't it?" Bumblebee chirped. "Be careful though, gambling can be just as dangerous here as on any other planet. One of the most extreme forms I've encountered is called Russian roulette."

"Bumblebee, don't inform him of this world's gambling forms. That's only inviting trouble," Ratchet warned.

Of course, it was already too late, seeing as Smokescreen had already referenced the game and was shaking his head out of pure entertained incredulity over the stupidity of Earth's dominant species. "You know, I bet there are a few bots I can scam into trying-."

"Half-bit games concocted by suicidal humans are not something for any of us to entertain," Ratchet cut in severely, finally to the limit of his warped patience. "Right now, just replacing what's been corroded in Hound is going to stretch supplies thin. I may even have to cannibalize from my own redundancy systems to cover it all. If any of you start entertaining ideas to inflict damages on purpose, I'll place the both of you offline for the foreseeable future; we don't have the resources here to support stupidity."

"Can't support stupidity? We're not going to last long, then," Smokescreen sighed dramatically. Once he'd rendered a small laugh from Bumblebee, he turned to Ratchet with a notably more serious expression. "Is Hound that bad off as to stretch our supplies that thin?"

"The damages are wide spread, but thankfully minor. His self-repair programs took care of a lot of the external damages, but the infections caused by the faulty welding are going to require more resources than I'd like to repair and replace." And as he said this, Ratchet reached into the open cavity of Hound's chassis and disengaged a neural circuit motherboard whose components had been compromised, yanking it out with a cringe-worthy screech. Another jarring screech filled the med bay as several neural relays from a secondary motherboard got caught, crying out with tinny whines as they stretched beyond the malleable metal's comfort zone.

Smokescreen once again felt his tanks churn. He contemplated leaving as Mirage had, if only to spare himself the torture of watching Hound's disassembly and repairs. He resisted the urge to leave; too many orns had gone by lying in this same med bay wondering where his friend was, there was no way in pit that he was going to let Hound online alone.

"You'll be able to fix him, though… right?" the midnight-blue mech asked, albeit a tad unsurely.

"Of course I will," Ratchet replied in a manner that clearly said he was insulted someone would question his abilities. "Like I said, these damages are wide spread, but minor."

At the far end of the med bay, a pneumatic hiss announced the entrance of a new mech, followed quickly by the pattering of tiny metal feet as something much smaller trotted in behind.

"I'm here for that check-up you ordered," Wheeljack announced merrily with a jaunty wave.

"You're late," Ratchet chastised.

"Sorry, sorry, I aligned my chronometer with the wrong time zone," the engineer replied, flashing his fins in time to his laughter. "Simple mistake. Anyone could've made it."

With a shake of his head, Ratchet dismissed the excuse. "Just go in there and wait for me," he ordered, indicating the lone set of doors nearest him, which led into the private treatment room he'd requested to be built. Wheeljack nodded eagerly, bouncing off into the room with Tungsten scrambling at his heels. As soon as the door swished closed, Ratchet set aside the last bit of degraded neural wire he had been wrestling from Hound's frame. "Alright, Bumblebee, I trust you can take it from here. All I want you to do is continue with the cleaning for now. That should take at least another joor or two."

The scout nodded, and then asked, "Is there anything else you would like to me do while you're with Wheeljack?"

Considering the offer, Ratchet nodded carefully. "If you have time, apply a mild acid to the parts I pulled out to see if they can be cleaned and recycled. I'm sure some of the corrosion is merely superficial."

"Sure, I can do that," Bumblebee assured with a cheerful chirp.

Hesitating for only a moment to ensure Hound was stable enough to be left in the care of the scout, Ratchet offered Bumblebee a curt nod before leaving in order to see to his long-time friend of questionable sanity.

* * *

"Yes, yes, I know I should'a paid more attention ta what time zone I was referencing, but ya know how easily things like that get mixed up."

"Meep, meep."

"Yer one ta talk; I'll bet you don't even know what day of the earth week it is."

"Meep, meep."

"Ha! Yer wrong- it ain't Saturday!"

"Meep, meep."

Wheeljack paused, cocking his head as he checked something. "…Aw, slag! It _is_ Saturday! Fraggin' time zones got me _again_!"

Ratchet eased into the room with a cool frown gracing his faceplate, regarding the one-sided conversation with more than a little concern.

"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed amusedly, crossing his arms over his chassis in a mockery of serious admonishment.

Wheeljack perked up as he heard Ratchet's voice, a generous grin brightening his faceplate. "Anything you want ta do with me, I guess," he replied. "Yer the medic, after all."

"That I am," Ratchet conceded with a nod, making his way towards his friend, who perched happily on the edge of the single berth in the room.

Wheeljack watched his approach with undisguised warmth, happiness. Just being in the company of his old friend was enough to make bad memory of the vorns gone by seem distant, vague. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd have enough time ta check me over. Even with no 'Cons on the planet, yer still a pretty busy mech," he said in hopes of striking up some conversation, swinging his legs gently from the berth he sat perched on.

"We're trying to build a new life here," Ratchet replied, obviously weary from all the effort it had taken to get thus far with the construction of the base and working with Earth's multiple, chaotic governments. "To say the least, it's time consuming."

"And at the most?" Wheeljack enquired, knowing there had to be a most if there was a least.

"At the most? No one wants to stay out of harm's way, the fraggers."

"Just like the old orns, then" Wheeljack sighed contentedly. "Been a long, long time since then."

Ratchet sighed, nodding. "Yes, it has been a long time."

The engineer's fins flashed a few times as he sat, head slightly canted to the side. "Also been a long time waiting fer you, y'know?"

"The Allspark… proved harder to find that any of us initially thought. We couldn't return empty handed," Ratchet replied, looking away from Wheeljack's open stare. A rough, but gentle hand took hold of his and patted it soothingly.

"Could never leave a job half-afted done, could ya? Had ta have everything perfect, even finding the Allspark. That's what I always loved about ya, Ratch'- perfectionist ta the end." Wheeljack said lightly.

"And you, my explosion-prone friend, are not perfectionist enough," Ratchet replied, tracing the remnants of a blast mark on the side engineer's head with his free hand.

"I am who I am," Wheeljack laughed, content to be explosion-prone. If he wasn't, he wouldn't know who he was. "But, y'know, that wasn't what I was talking 'bout in the first place. I meant here- ya kept me waiting long enough _here_."

Upon realizing what he meant, Ratchet dropped his fond look in favor of an annoyed expression, tugging his hand away to bonk the other mech on the head. "I haven't kept you waiting _that_ long."

Ducking away from the medic's assault, Wheeljack laughed good-naturedly, grinning. "I get bored so easily, though. Time and me- we're not so good buddies." Half of the explosions he'd been through could be attributed at least in part to boredom. The other half was pretty much because the universe thought it was funny to watch him blow up.

"You haven't even been planet-side for an _orn_," Ratchet countered.

"Really? Strange… it feels a lot longer than that," the engineer shrugged. "Boredom will do that ta a mech, I guess."

Ratchet made a note to check his friend's chronometer while he was checking the rest of his processor. "I'm sure it does. I'm sorry that I've been neglecting you for however long, but Hound's welfare took precedence over for yours in the immediate circumstance. Now that I've sorted him out and left Bumblebee to complete the rest of the cleaning, I can see to you properly."

"Glad ya could make time fer me in yer busy schedule. It's a lot better hanging around here than wandering around this base- it's interesting an all, an' I'm getting a kick outta the little Earthlings, but nothing beats catching up with a friend. I missed ya something terrible," Wheeljack said warmly, offering a sincere smile.

"I missed you, too," Ratchet replied just as sincerely, resisting the urge to lay his forehead to 'Jack's. It just didn't feel like the time for that kind of sentiment, so instead he said, "If you really wanted to see me, you could have come in at any time."

"Nah, I didn't want ta interrupt nothing- you being so busy and all. Thought it was better to wait."

"I'll always make time for you, Wheeljack. There's no need to worry about that."

"Yer the best, Ratch'," Wheeljack beamed. "How about we get started though- don't wanna waste too much time just sitting around talking when there's so much else fer ya to do."

"Sounds like a plan." He moved to Wheeljack's other side in order to have better access to the interface port tucked away in the armor of his shoulder. As he did so, he moved passed the ledge Tungsten stood upon, its dull optics flashing in resonance recognition.

"Meep, meep."

"Yeah, that's right, Tungy- that's Ratchet," Wheeljack laughed, and then looked up to Ratchet himself. "It's missed you something awful too. Almost as much as I have."

"I'm sure it has, Wheeljack," he replied dryly after a fashion, reluctant to grant the little drone more attention than it warranted. "But let's get you looked at for now, alright? It'll just be a routine check-up; all I want to do is make sure nothing's been corrupted in that CPU of yours."

The mech's expression wavered for a moment. "Oh, this ain't gonna be a physical maintenance?"

"Of course not. I already performed a number of those scans when you first made planet fall- there was nothing wrong with you then, and unless you've involved yourself in an explosion I don't know about, you should be fine now. What I'm really concerned with is the operating condition of your processor- who knows how much rust you've let it collect while I've been away."

"That involves interfacing, though…"

"For medical purposes; checking for corruptions, data stream disruptions, hidden Trojans or worms you might have picked up. I'm not about to flip you on your back and have my way with you, 'Jack."

"No, no, 'course not." Wheeljack's faceplate suddenly adopted a distant expression, his optics sliding out of focus as he looked away. "Still, I don't know if interfacing with me is such a good idea…"

"Is there something you don't want me to see?"

"No… not that. I'm not hiding anything. There might be things that _you_ don't want to see, though." He drew away physically, leaning back as far as he dared. He didn't want to be the one to crush his friend.

Ratchet would hear none of it. "I'm a medic, Wheeljack; whatever you have, I can take it. I've seen the worst of the worst." Wheeljack's expression was starting to frighten him, regardless of his assertions. When had Wheeljack ever looked so distant? Lost. Broken. That wasn't like Wheeljack at all.

Unable to take Ratchet's unwavering stare, Wheeljack leaned to the left to regard Tungsten with a gentle look. The drone's answering stare, dull and empty, was welcomed. "You don't know where to run when the damage isn't physical, do ya Tungsten?" he suddenly asked. "You always ran ta Ratchet whenever I got hurt in an explosion or something, no matter what. But with the hurt on the inside, you don't know what ta do. Not programmed fer something like that. Poor little thing."

Tungsten replied as his programming bid. "Meep, meep."

With a gentle hand, Ratchet moved to cup Wheeljack's faceplate, turning his gaze away from the drone. "You've been hurting all this time?"

"Not me. Tungsten."

"It's not healthy the way you treat that drone. You're projecting your emotional circumstances onto it without dealing with the problems themselves-."

"You're wrong, Ratch'. Tungy's my friend- it's always been there fer me."

"It's not alive, it's not sentient; it's just a _drone_. I realize you've always held a special attachment to everything you've built, but fixating on something like this when there are others around for you to interact with… I'm worried for you, 'Jack. I've never seen you like this before."

The engineer quieted considerably, even his internal mechanisms dimmed to a low hum. "I don't know what the others have told you, Ratch', but things have changed since the last time you've been around. Everything's changed." His gaze fell to the floor. "Even me."

"You're still Wheeljack, no matter what. You're still my friend," the medic insisted. "I can help you, if you let me. Whatever's wrong with you, I can fix it."

"That's the thing; nothing's wrong with me. There's nothing to fix."

In all the vorns that Ratchet had known his friend he had never seen such an abject sadness is his friend's optics; not when they had been separated for that short time when Ratchet had begun his function at the Centaurie Tetrax Youth Sector, and not even when he had left Iacon for the Allspark. Wheeljack had always been a mech with a light that shone from his spark, someone who seemed to live in a perpetual world of happiness. But now, looking into the engineer's optics, it was almost as if he were peering into the faceplate of a stranger. Were it not for Wheeljack's spark resonance pulsing gently against his identification scanners, it would have been as if Ratchet were staring into the faceplate of a mech he had never seen before. It hurt him deeply to see his friend so changed, so far different from the Wheeljack he knew that in a single expression he could become a stranger.

As if sensing the internal dilemma Ratchet was experiencing, Wheeljack focused on Tungsten instead. "I've been trying to tell everyone fer so long… I'm not crazy. I'm _not_ crazy. Things have just changed, that's all. Tungsten… Tungsten is all I have left."

"All you have left? I don't understand." He tried to catch Wheeljack's optics again, but the mech decidedly turned away, looking anywhere else but at his friend.

"It's okay if ya don't understand."

"I _want_ to understand, Wheeljack, you're just not making sense. You're not helping me to undertand." Ratchet sighed, trying to rein in the frustration lacing his voice. "I know you're just stalling for something- you could never look me in the optics when you were hiding something. Stop stalling like you're afraid of me and give me access to your interfacial port. I can help you, I promise."

Wheeljack peeked, his optics lightening ever so softly. "You promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll do anything I can, so long as you give me access to see what the problem is in the first place."

"Alright… I trust you." With an almost mute click, the metal panel to his port popped open, leaving it to Ratchet to draw the cable out and insert it into his own port, and then connect to Wheeljack via his own cable.

"There, was that so terribly hard?" Ratchet asked rhetorically, hoping to urge a lighthearted answer from Wheeljack, even encourage a small smile, but was ultimately disappointed.

As their systems synchronized for the session, Wheeljack huffed a sombre laugh at nothing in particular. "You wanna sit down?"

"Sit down?" Ratchet repeated, at first thinking Wheeljack was addressing the drone. When Tungsten did not comply, he realized he was the one being addressed. "Why would I want to sit down?" He was experienced enough with his own function not to be taken by surprise by a simple interface connection.

The engineer patted the spot next to him. "I know fer a fact that this ain't gonna turn out to be all businesslike, so you might as well sit down now."

"I assure you, 'Jack, I have every intention of keeping this professional."

Wheeljack shook his head, observing their connected cables as they ran into each other. They were synchronized already, but Ratchet was hesitating to move forward, and Wheeljack was not about to open up and embrace him like he once had. Not before Ratchet did as he asked, at least.

"That's not what I meant; just sit down fer me. Please?"

"Oh, alright, I'll sit." He eased himself up next to Wheeljack, saying nothing when the engineer leaned to the side to lay his head to the medic's vibrantly yellow shoulder.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Ratchet allowed himself to loop an arm around his friend's broad shoulders, losing a little bit of his medically efficient edge to the old bond of friendship that connected them.

"Be careful with what you find," Wheeljack warned absently. "Got nothing wrong in my processor, but some things are…" He couldn't quite find a word to fit the description. Thankfully, their connection supplied a guarded feeling of dread to Ratchet, enough to fill in the blank.

Taken aback by that particular emotion, Ratchet nonetheless was quick to reassure his friend. "I'm sure there's nothing in your processor that can surprise me anymore."

As opposed to Wheeljack's belief that the session wasn't going to be all business, Ratchet stuck to his medical protocols carefully, keeping in mind to see to all programs that could possibly be causing his friend this sort of discomfort. If Wheeljack was functioning on a corrupted program, or perhaps hosting a minor virus, or even if his CPU was just a little rattled from too many explosions, he would find it and fix the problem. That's what he did, after all. He was a medic; he repaired bots. He'd fix Wheeljack no matter what.

Once through with Wheeljack's primary programming, background subroutines, and even his tertiary backup files, finding nothing amiss with any of that, Ratchet was quick to move on. Transformation sequencer came out clean. Personality files were all in order, not a speck of corruption to be found. Functional subroutines, engineering programs, and even the special file marked as 'Ratchet's Fix It File' all checked out clean. There was virtually nothing wrong with the mech. Not even a quick scan of Wheeljack's memory files showed any signs of viral infection.

'_Things have just changed, that's all.' _

That was it, wasn't it? The problem wasn't in the files themselves, but the memories they contained. His theory was confirmed the moment he turned his attentions to opening the first set of catalogued memories and felt Wheeljack's presence go rigid, cold. The tension was so instantaneously thick that their connection was almost rejected. Thankfully, ratchet was able to activate a medical interfacial program he had for patients who were antsy about medic digging around in their heads- it induced a wave of soothing that allowed Wheeljack to calm marginally.

"Ratchet, I don't know if you should-."

"I promised I would help you, Wheeljack, but I can't do that if I don't know what's wrong." He urged an astral caress of his own, beyond the medical sedation of the soothing program. The touch was far more welcome to Wheeljack than that of a mindless program. He sighed, sagging heavily into Ratchet's frame as if he lacked all the strength to keep upright more. Entirely forgotten now, Tungsten warbled a gentle 'meep, meep' before engaging standby mode in order to conserve energy while it wasn't needed.

At first, the memories were simple and familiar. The Polyhex Youth Sector where they both were raised. Sweet memories of a younglinghood well spent running the halls and courtyards of the bright complex, laughing as they were chased by Caretakers and Guardians alike; sitting together in the Sector med bay while Toolbox, the resident medic, fixed them up after Wheeljack had nicked supplies from the engineer of the Sector and tried to build something of his own. They were happy, always together.

And then there was their apprenticeship, Wheeljack under Wrenchwire, Ratchet under Patchwork. Primus, were those ever interesting times…

"I always wondered about that… Wrenchwire really did let you recharge in the same berth as him?" Ratchet asked as he zipped through the memory.

"Sometimes… most of the time- he let everything recharge in the berth with him. Most of the time, there was no room to lay down because of all the drones he piled on it. He liked the company."

"Lucky glitch. Patchwork used to make me recharge in the clinic on the med-berths."

They passed on through those memories to that of their vorns in Centaurie Tetrax Youth Sector as the certified medic and engineer. They were fond memories as well, full of laughing sparklings and mischievous younglings. Wheeljack even held special files for each of the young ones in the Sector that he had the pleasure of encountering, as well as an extra special set of files saved away of the extraordinary pair of twins that had been raised in the stuntmech troop in the city. Despite the taboo in their culture to connect adult bots directly with their youngling selves, Wheeljack had labeled the file _'Sunny'n'Sides: Trouble in the making'_ and offered a visual cue of them in their first frames, and a relatively current image of them now.

In a matter of breems, Ratchet had passed on to their orns working beyond the Sector; while Ratchet had found a job easily in a clinic, and even had gotten a little bit into politics, evolving himself briefly with the Council before deciding he liked his original function too much, Wheeljack had bounced around as a freelancer for a while before deciding to set up shop near Ratchet's own clinic. They'd gained quite a bit of noterity amongst their peers for their ever increasing talents in their fields, not to mention Wheeljack's infamy with his accidents.

Even the vorns early vorns as Autobots were fondly remembered through Wheeljack's optics.

"You really did think the world of joining the Autobots, didn't you?" Ratchet asked.

"It was the right thing to do," Wheeljack replied quietly.

With greater care, Ratchet sorted through the vorns leading up to his departure. He was reminded of the deaths of comrades, the fall of so many good warriors. He saw battle through Wheeljack's optics, felt horror through his mind. Neither of them were warriors in any sense of the word; they were creators, not destroyers. Wheeljack built. Ratchet fixed. But war had changed so much in them. They fought. They killed. They suffered.

They each died a little bit the orn Ratchet left with the _Ark_.

"I'm so sorry, Wheeljack."

"It's okay. You had to leave."

Ratchet's arm tightened around his friend. He was now into the memories he had no part of; things were less familiar in this part of Wheeljack's processor. Everything became subtly darker, colder. Their interfacial connection wavered momentarily as the engineer attempted to withdraw.

"I'm right here. You're not going to scare me away."

"You're going to see things you won't want to see." There was such sorrow in the memories, each containing emotion so thick as to choke the medic. With each file opened, the tension within Wheeljack released just a little, as if the pressure behind the damn was slowly coming undone, something terrible and awful and painful finally being revealed.

Iacon's fall by the Decepticons. Lives lost. The inability to rebuild. The rampage the Decepticons toured on for orns after, high on their victory, nigh-immortal with their numbers. The next base to fall was…

Ratchet drew away minutely, frigid shock grasping hold of his spark. "Primus, no."

"Mostly everyone got away in Astroplex. They had been expecting the attack to come."

"Patchwork… Wrenchwire…"

"Fell with Epsilon. They stayed to engage the base's defenses, and didn't make it out in time."

The soft trembling that had taken hold of Wheeljack's frame at the beginning of the session migrated to Ratchet as he processed the impossible idea that his mentor, his terribly grumpy, awful mentor was now gone. Wrenchwire too- the whacked out framework engineer who thought everything was a she. They'd always been there. The forerunners of Ratchet and Wheeljack. As their mentors, Wrenchwire and Patchwork had been as close to them as their Creators were, perhaps even more so.

"They can't be gone…"

"I'm sorry, Ratch'." Wheeljack's fins were a charcoal black now, not a speck of light to be found in their depths. Memories arose within him on their own accord, fed to Ratchet through the connection- memories of the aftermath. Alone. Alone in his relocated labs. Alone with only Tungsten and his other projects to talk to. The upheaval caused by both Epsilon and Iacon's fall had caused too much chaos for anyone to pay too much attention to one mech. Autobots everywhere were trying to piece themselves back together. Wheeljack had no one. In spite of their installed coping programs to deal with immense emotional shocks like this, it was the beginning of Wheeljack's fall.

The darkness spread.

The Decepticons splintering. Autobots struggling. Cybertron slowly rendered uninhabitable. Vague memories now, too saturated in the fog of denial to register clearly; Ratchet saw hazy images, took note of blurred things. The icy fear that gripped Ratchet's spark was painful, straining, and he knew Wheeljack could feel it, straining himself under the knowledge that what he was doing was hurting his friend.

"Where is Elita One?"

"Gone."

"_Impossible." _

"We thought she died in Iacon, but with Prime alive here…"

"She's been missing all this time…"

Arcee laid out on a berth, her frame stripped down to only its essentials. She was falling apart. Weak. No one could touch her. Get near her. There wasn't much time left for her. Her spark could extinguish at any given moment. It was like nothing anyone had ever seen before.

"Is it a virus?"

"We don't know."

"How long has she been like this?"

"Ever since you left."

Sparkmates suffering… Chromia drawn to the breaking point. Latching on to Arcee as if she were her only lifeline. Caring for the femme as a way to distract herself from her own condition. She was deteriorating in a perfect mimic of Ironhide. In such great pain it was visible on her faceplate no matter the expression she wore. There were many others like her, drawn to their absolute breaking points with no respite in sight. They were tired. Drawn. Broken down; only operating on bare fumes.

There was no hope anymore.

"How could things have gotten this bad?"

"It's like I said- things have changed, Ratch'. There's nothing left in any of us anymore. We're just fighting now…"

_"Why?"_

"Because we can, and because we don't know how ta do anything else anymore." With admitting such a horrible fate, the dams finally burst within the engineer. The trembling in his thick frame became shuddering, his limbs creaking, his chassis heaving. Wheeljack finally _broke_. So many vorns of simply holding it in, differing it to Tungsten to shoulder the weight... He couldn't take it anymore with Ratchet so close, holding him up, grasping him tight, frame and mind. He slid from Ratchet's shoulder to his lap, sprawled there without shame as grating sobs wrenched through his system. Dry heaving noises tore deep from his frame. Vents coughing on dusty air. It was uncontrollable, the urge to shake and sob. It was a pressure that built from deep inside and pushed outward with lethal force, wrenching in the tides of pure, raw emotion. He clutched to his friend desperately, wishing to feel not-alone. He didn't want to alone anymore. Not anymore.

As in-shock as he was, Ratchet still knew his duty as a medic, and as a friend. "I'm right here, Wheeljack. Let it out. Just let it out. I'm here…" His hands moved without thought, stroking the engineer's head as he sobbed, tracing pockmarked armor, soothing him as best he could. There was going to come a time when he was going to have to tell Optimus all this, but he had no idea where to start… what bit of news would the Prime be able to bare without his spark shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces? He filed it all away silently, grimly, knowing the truth would be something hard and painful to tell. He would have to wait for a time in the future to broach it to the Prime- to tell him of Elita and the condition of the Autobots, and in the meantime, he would have to hope to Primus that no one sought to inform Optimus of the circumstances before he had a chance to break it to Optimus first.

"Ya don't know what it's like- orn after orn, alone, with no one. There's nothing…" Wheeljack's vocal processor wheezed, fizzled out, and then rebooted after several breems of silent cries. "All I had was Tungsten."

A stray thought crossed Ratchet's processor from Wheeljack's. A hidden thought he'd never encountered before. A secret Wheeljack had kept from him.

With a quiet whistle, Ratchet switched Tungsten back into active mode, summoning him to the berth. With a squeak, the drone threw itself of the counter ledge, trotting across the floor, and then scaled its way up Ratchet's leg to stand upon his lap to await its next order. Curiosity burning as hot in his spark as fear was burning cold, the medic took hold of the tiny creature, settling it in his palm; silver-white, the average color of tungsten. Dull expression due to the lack of complex artificial intelligence; it was a quirk that the drone had a faceplate at all. Streamlined build for maximum efficiency in tight places. Blast-proof for obvious reasons. Older than every other project Wheeljack had taken on; the drone's design borne from Wheeljack's endeavors as a youngling in the Sector. Ratchet ran a finger over the drone, who gave a 'meep, meep' in return.

"Tungy," Wheeljack croaked, raising his head to regard the little drone.

"Meep, meep," replied Tungsten.

Ratchet stared down at the drone in uncomprehending disbelief. If the memory he was being given right now was real... "Why didn't you ever tell me about-." Recognition flashed across Wheelkack's faceplate as he realized what memory he accidentally transmitted. First he looked away, ashamed, but was brought back to Ratchet's gaze by a blazing yellow hand.

"I-," Wheeljack's vocal processor fizzled out again, so they waited in silence until it rebooted. "I couldn't." His voice rasped no matter how he tried to modulate it, shaking ever-so-slightly with the rawness of his current state. "You wouldn't understand… even back then, before everything, I was so lonely. I was always alone in my labs. I just wanted an assistant; someone to talk to you when you weren't around."

"I would never think badly of you for something like this," Ratchet assured, leaning down to place his forehead to Wheeljack's. "I would have helped you."

Wheeljack took Tungsten into his own hands, stroking the little silver drone. "I never even applied, you know- for a spark. I was just too scared. Now it's too late."

"You still have me," Ratchet intoned softly.

"Yeah, I do," Wheeljack sighed sadly. With a deft finger, he prodded open Tungsten's chest, revealing the tiny empty sparkcase that lay within. A pre-program ready for a spark. A bit of dust had accumulated on the cold chamber. "For the longest time, all I had was Tungsten. I'd talk ta it because there was no one else... Everyone thinks I'm crazy for talking to a drone- an inanimate object, but I know the difference between a drone and a mech. Tungsten's not an inanimate object… he's just not _alive_."


	24. Big Fish

I was completely blown away by the response for the last chapter. Completely and utterly blown away. It just seems like you people get more amazing every single time I post a chapter- is it something in the planetary water, or something? Or are you all just sucking up the cosmic love I've been handing out like candy? Let's say it's a little bit of both, shall we? My greatest and most sincere thanks to the dearest and sweetest **Violetlight, That Crazy Halo Girl, black dragon, Flameshield, Balrog Roike, theshadowcat, Caz, gatogirl1, Freakish Child, Elita One, Bluebird Soaring, CuteKitten, Chloo, Jason M. Lee, Bunnylass, Lecidre, Litahatchee**, and **Twospotz!**

Much special love and dedications go to **Bunnylass** for her most mind-blowing reviews, and to **Lecidre** for her most amazing fanart (which I suggest you all go check out through the links in my bio!). You two are simply the best! *hugs* Also, special props to my buddies **Litahatchee, Violetlight**, and **Lady Tecuma**, who continue to be the best friends one could ever chat with until ass O'clock in the morning! xD

Much love, everyone!

**As We Come Together  
In Which There are Big Fish**

"You can drop the act. No one's here to see you."

"There's you."

"I don't count. I've seen you worse off."

Optimus paused in the doorway, acknowledging the truth of the statement. A bare smile crossed his faceplate as he gave an almost unperceivable nod. "Of course you have… Old habits die hard, I guess."

Ironhide grunted, turning back to the monitors he was watching, seeing to his security shift with a disinterested air. Optimus was left in a light silence, deciding whether or not faking wellness in the weapon specialist's company was worth it or not. Ultimately, the two Autobots were in similar conditions, so there really was no point in faking other than pride, which took a backseat in the presence of friends. Prime groaned expansively, sinking heavily against the far wall with the air of a mech worn to the end of his tether.

"Sounds bad," Ironhide commented absently.

"It is."

"Have you told Ratchet, yet?"

Surprised by such a question, especially when Ironhide was usually the _last _mech to go to Ratchet for treatment, Optimus was quiet for a moment before finding an answer. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't believe it would be wise to come to him with this particular development."

Ironhide remained facing the monitors, giving his friend a perceived freedom and space to speak. His concern was shown through the briefest of glances he threw over his shoulder to his friend. "Development? Has it gotten worse?"

"In a way, yes, though I didn't think it could possibly any get worse than it was."

"Optimus-." Ironhide made a move to rise, to go to his friend's side, but Optimus waved him back to his seat.

"I'm fine for now. I can handle this on my own."

"You wouldn't be here if you could handle it on your own," the black mech pointed out darkly, regaining his seat reluctantly. The monitors were quickly becoming less of a concern to the weapons specialist in light of his friend's plight, his mood quickly souring.

Optimus smiled wryly. "You have a point."

"Of course I do," Ironhide snorted, sounding more severe than he meant. They were both pretty worse for wear; a couple of old mechs wasting away with only half of what made them whole. A part of them made them feel pathetic for the situation they were in, but another part told them they wouldn't give up their bonds for the world. Ironhide had ways of dealing with his misery So it didn't get as bad as it could possibly be. He had outlets, and those outlets usually ended up full of blast holes. But Optimus… "You've been bottling this up for as long as we've been looking for the Allspark; one of these orns, you're going to have an attack that'll stop your spark all together."

"I'm sure that's just an exaggeration."

"Is it? Look at yourself, Optimus, you're falling apart. You won't be able to take much more of this."

"And what do you suggest? Take your route for relief? Shoot everything up until it is ash, and then wallow in it?" The edge that had taken to Optimus's voice was diamond-sharp.

Ironhide took no heed to the warning in his leader's voice. "It's better than wallowing in your own self-effacing pit of pity."

Instantly, Optimus's head shot up, surprised to be addressed, even by Ironhide, in such a harsh manner. By Ironhide's expression, he obviously realized what he said was unwarranted, as well.

"My apologies, Prime. That was out of line…"

With some effort, Optimus shook his head. "No, I needed that," he sighed. "I have been wallowing in my own pity, and it seems that it is finally getting the best of me."

If Prime's stance weren't enough to concern the old mech, his inability to rise from the slumped position he'd fallen into was. Optimus's optics had long since faded to a bare white with exhaustion, his frame rattling and whirring as dead giveaways to the disrepair he was quickly falling into.

"When did it start getting worse?"

Optimus took a moment to think about it, easing his head back to rest against the cold wall behind him. His sparkcase continued to burn, throbbing a beat inside him. It was only just enough to numb the areas around it to enable him to keep going, but the astral pain his spark left in his being could not be dimmed by any means. It took a moment to find his thoughts before he was able to think of when it all began to get worse.

"A few days ago," he moderated carefully.

"Around the time Hound was brought back?" Ironhide probed, noting that Optimus had used the translated term for human days instead of orns.

"It feels like longer, though," the Autobot leader sighed quietly.

"It always does when the pain doesn't stop," Ironhide commented tiredly.

Optimus nodded sagely. "I have a new respect for everything you've been suffering through these past vorns. I admit that I felt the constant loss always, but never to your degree. Elita always felt close somehow- I can't explain it... There were the attacks, but now, ever since Hound arrived… it doesn't stop. Not even for a moment. How have you been able to live like this for so long?"

Ironhide's faceplate grew shadowed. "I have had no choice but to live." His gaze flashed as Optimus shifted, a low groan rattling from him as the movement seized his insides, wrenching. "Have the attacks gotten worse?"

"No, I can't say _worse-_ I haven't had an attack in so long... months, even. The pain is constant now, like yours; every waking moment, every astrosecond in recharge. It doesn't stop; it doesn't fade. It's there, all the time, getting worse…" He was exhausted, his voice wavering.

Ironhide averted his gaze, able to relate too well. He hurt with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to sooth his friend after so long of staying by his side to protect him. "Do you think Elita might be suffering, wherever she is? Do you think that's what brought on the change?"

"I can't tell," Optimus murmured quietly, as if ashamed to admit it. "Before this, there used to be moments when I could feel her close, and sometimes I could feel her moving away, but now… now it's clouded. I can't feel her at all. It's as if she isn't there anymore… all I can feel is the bond, but not her on the other side."

"She wouldn't be dead," Ironhide asserted needlessly.

Optimus's head jerked up for a moment, a brief look of fear crossing his faceplate as he considered the possibility of his sparkmate's death, before reality came back. As Ironhide had said, she couldn't possibly be dead. Had her spark been extinguished, he would have felt it no matter the distance between them, and he would have been quick to follow her.

Needing to make the thoughts reality, to make them stronger by being said, Optimus replied, "No, she's not dead. Of course she's not dead. But other than that fact, I have nothing else to say whether she is in good health or not."

"If you want to know, just ask the others. They probably know something."

"I would have done so before, but things have been so terribly busy around here as of late that I have not had a chance to speak with any of the new arrivals privately." Optimus's faded optics dimmed minutely, his head falling forward. "And, admittedly, I think I am afraid to ask."

"Afraid?"

"Yes… what if the news is something so terrible that I wouldn't be able to stand it?" A worn metal hand raised to his faceplate, scrubbing it tiredly. "Does that make me a bad sparkmate?"

A deep rumble vibrated from within Ironhide's chassis. "It makes you as mortal as the rest of us. Sometimes I think you need to be reminded of that once in a while."

"It is easy to become so caught up in my duties as Prime that I forget," Optimus murmured, servos sighing as he settled even more heavily against the wall. Speaking with Ironhide may not be enough to ease the pain, but the distraction was enough to make enduring it easier. "Perhaps I am making too much of this," he reasoned quietly.

"Your bond with Elita is not something to be taken lightly," Ironhide reminded.

"It is not that I am taking it lightly, Ironhide- it is simply that there may be a more _rational_ explanation for why I am feeling what I am."

"How so?"

"Ever since we landed on this planet, the attacks have become increasingly intense, yes?"

"Yes."

"And with every bot that lands, the attacks have mutated from minor discomfort with bouts of extreme attacks to a permanent extreme discomfort; every time I see Mirage and Smokescreen and Hound celebrating together, _I_ feel worse…" Pale optics peered up at Ironhide with an indecipherable sadness. "Perhaps it is not Elita who is in danger at all; this may be my own doing."

Ironhide's broad faceplate drew into a pensive frown, considering the possibility. When he could think of nothing in particular to refute the claim, he conceded with a slow nod. "It is frustrating to welcome so many of our own kind to Earth, and yet not have the ones you really want be near, but they will come, Optimus." He rose from his seat to kneel by his friend's side, placing a thick, broad hand upon a flame-painted shoulder. "They will come in time- Chromia, Elita One, _all_ of them."

"You are not normally so philanthropic, my friend," Optimus commented.

"I couldn't very well shoot you, now could I? This doesn't exactly feel like one of those times." Ironhide shrugged.

"You have my thanks for the restraint."

Before anything more could be said, a hollow chirp from a console alerted the pair to a request for an open channel. Optimus was quick to push himself to his feet in case the call was open for visual relay, reluctant to have anyone see him on the ground. The channel was to the brig, and as Ironhide answered the request a window opened up to the console in the brig, the visual screen displaying Will and Epps at the controls, both looking particularly grim.

"Has there been any progress with our guests down there, Captain?" Optimus enquired.

The human shrugged, looking tired and drawn as humans tended to after several stressful days. _"You could say that. They're both willing to negotiate information for their release."_

Epps grumbled something rude under his breath, turned partially away from the screen to glare at something in one of the cells. When he turned back, his expression was less than pleased. _"Practically had to beat it out of them, but they're willing to co-operate now." _

"_Both_ are willing to co-operate?" Optimus repeated. "That's more than I would have expected. Agent Simmons was rather reticent when Mirage first brought him in."

"_We had to work Simmons over a little before he was willing to talk,_" the tech sergeant admitted.

"I hope you didn't harm Agent Simmons," the mech admonished.

"_No, 'course not. We_ wanted to_, but it wasn't worth the risk to our jobs, y'know?"_ the human laughed, waving off the concern. _"He just hasn't had coffee in a couple days- the guy's going into withdraws. He'll talk in return for a cup of java."_

"That's pathetic," Ironhide growled flatly. While Simmons was among one of his least favorite humans, he had at least expected the little bag of carbon puss to put up more of a fight.

"_Makes things easier for us, so we're not complaining,"_ Epps insisted. _"We didn't want to do much to David out of respect for Mikaela, but he said he's willing to talk so long as we don't put his ass back in prison."_

Will nodded, smiling ruefully. _"We just thought Ironhide would like to come down to listen to the interrogations, but seeing as you're there, why don't you come down too, Optimus? I'm sure these two have quite the story to tell, and since it concerns your people…" _

"We'll be right down," Optimus replied smoothly.

"_Great, we'll wait for you then,"_ Will replied. He paused as a he reached for the controls to turn his end of the channel off, peering up at Optimus with a light frown. _"-You doing okay, Optimus?"_ he enquired, one eyebrow raised. Humans were nothing if not perceptive.

Surprised to have been caught by the little alien, it took a moment for the Autobot to answer. "I am fine, Will. I simply have a lot on my mind at the moment." And then he realized how curt that sounded and added, "Thank you for asking."

"_That's what friends do, I guess,"_ Will said with a friendly shrug before closing the channel.

The Autobots remained in a light silence as the screen went black, and then was replaced by the normal brig security footage, accompanied by a display of several other security feeds. Ironhide was the first to make a move, his gaze travelling to his friend with a somewhat accusing stare.

"It seems the humans are becoming more and more perceptive of our species," he commented quietly.

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Optimus admonished, straightening up and heading for the door.

"I was simply under the impression that our species was a rather difficult one to read, which has worked in our favor to hide our un-wellness. With each passing orn, the humans here become more and more adapted to reading us. Very soon, they will be able to read us as well as we can scan them."

Optimus shook his head, partially amused. That fact that he had his hand to his chest was not lost on Ironhide. "You really must do away with your prejudices against this species- both you _and_ Ratchet have your fair share of reservations about the humans."

"They are primitive," Ironhide replied dismissively.

"Just because a species is not as technologically advanced as ours does not mean that they are primitive on a personal level, it only makes them _different_ from us. I know you are hardwired for certain things, Ironhide, but surely you could see passed such a difference."

An indelicate snort rattled once again from the black mech's vents. "Sometimes it is hard to see passed their technological inferiority."

Prime regarded his friend with a knowing look, though it was reduced by the faded whiteness of his optics. "William Lennox and Robert Epps are your friends, are they not?"

Ironhide considered the question as they exited the command building and headed for the stark grey structure of the brigs. It was strange to consider the two humans as friends, and stranger still to consider them brothers in arms, but it seemed that Mission City had ensured that that was what they were to be considered in his processor whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"They are comrades," the mech allowed reluctantly.

Optimus's low, tired chuckle was enough to let both mechs know he saw through Ironhide's words. "As comrades, allies, or friends, these people are now risking their lives and planet for us- that should be enough for some admiration, and certainly gratitude on our part. If you were to look past their organic exterior to their metaphorical sparks, I sure you would see creatures rather similar to us."

"If you say so, Optimus, but the opinions on Cybertron concerning organics were never high." The weapon's specialist shrugged unconcernedly, though he easily sidestepped a passing human without registering the action. Prejudiced as he was against the species, it seemed he had finally incorporated them to register on his proximal sensors.

"We are not on Cybertron anymore."

"Even so, old habits like that die hard."

"Indeed."

* * *

Although the lower levels of the brigs were built and normally reserved for larger and more dangerous bots, Will and Epps had deemed it appropriate that Simmons be locked in the subterranean cells in hopes that he would run for the force field and fry himself. While the hope was a slim one, over the past few days they had come pretty close to irritating the man to the point where he was seriously contemplating the pros and cons of a suicide run. As it just so happened, Optimus and Ironhide entered the high-security level just in time to watch the tail end of one of the torture methods Will and Epps had employed to get the agent to talk, which involved sitting on the other side of the force field drinking an entire cup of hot coffee in front of him.

Finishing the aromatic mocha blend with a satisfied "ahhhhh", Will wiped his mouth and glanced behind him at the approaching Autobots. "You two got here quick," he commented.

"We were eager to hear what Agent Simmons had to say," Optimus replied, his gaze sliding to the lone human sitting in the nearest cavernous cell. Reginald Simmons, as far as Optimus could tell, was obviously irritated, looking a tiny bit haggard, and his hands were shaking minutely from caffeine withdraws. He was forced to sit against the far wall on the floor, seeing as humans were far too small to reach the berth that jutted from the left wall. The quick drumming of his fingers was drowned out by the low, steady hum of the charged field keeping him in confinement.

Simmons, despite his situation, summed up enough attitude to sneer in the Autobots' direction.

"You know, I kinda wanna save the best for last," Epps said, looking from Simmons to David, who sat in the cell opposite of the ex-Sector Seven agent. "We'll get what we can outta _him_, and then we'll listen to Simmons bitch for a while."

"He's a grunt," Simmons suddenly intoned, his lip curling. "You'll get nothing out of him."

"I know enough to co-operate so I can get the hell outta here," David retorted snidely. The animosity thrown across the aisle between the two men was enough to short-circuit the force fields separating them.

"Now, now, kiddies, don't make me put you two in time outs," Epps mocked, clearly enjoying the opportunity to needle Simmons and his accomplice.

"Can we get this over with?" Ironhide growled.

"If you insist, big guy," Will nodded, swinging his chair around to face David's cell. "Lucky you, you get to start this party."

"Forgive me if I'm not jumping for joy," he spat in return.

"The information we are seeking is of the utmost importance to us, Mr. Banes, so it would be in your best interest to tell the truth. We shall know if you are lying," Optimus informed grimly. He detected a spike in the man's heartbeat, but otherwise Optimus was stubbornly ignored.

Will leaned forward in his chair, fixing David with his full attention. "Let's start with what we know; David Banes, father of Mikaela Banes, and recently liberated convict from Nevada State Prison. You weren't due for probation for another couple months, and yet somehow you got out. Mind enlightening the crowd as to _how_?"

David shifted, looking cagey. "Couple of suits just showed up one day and said I was coming with them. Didn't give me much choice in the matter."

"Suits?" Will repeated.

David sized the captain up carefully, his flat, dark eyes giving away nothing under the stark lights. "Yeah, _suits-_ figured they were feds. They didn't look too happy to be there, and they were armed, so I went with them."

"Just like that, no questions asked?"

"It was either that, or get a couple rounds of iron unloaded in me. Enough guys go 'mysteriously missing' in there without adding me to the list. I went with them."

"Where did they take you?" Will pressed.

"Hell if I know. It was one of those gagged and blindfolded deals, like in the movies." Will exchanged a look with Epps, eyebrow raised, but returned to David as the man continued. "Ended up in some warehouse, handcuffed to a table- all they gave me was a phone. Must have waited for a couple hours before the phone rang, and then I was suddenly talking to some chick calling herself Lady Jaye." As he spoke, David's hard gaze did not leave Will's face. Whereas many humans would have found themselves sneaking glances up at Optimus and Ironhide, this man appeared determined not to acknowledge the aliens' presences at all.

"Lady Jaye?" Will repeated, finding the name familiar.

"The screen name for one of the administrators to SkyWatch," Optimus suddenly intoned. "LadyJaye_13."

David's lip curled into a bare snarl before speaking again. "There was another guy- Joe Flint."

"Joe-Flint47, another administrator," Optimus intoned.

"Sure, whatever," David growled, clearly irritated with Optimus's interruptions. "Look, whoever they are to you, I only know them as Lady Jaye and Joe Flint. They run SkyWatch. That's all I was given about them, and I wasn't about to go asking around for more in case they decided I wasn't worth the trouble and shot me instead."

"Fine, we get that. Do you know _why_ they pulled you out?" Will enquired, pressing the interrogation. "Specifically _you_, not anyone else."

"They never said it directly, but I ain't stupid- I figured some shit out," he shrugged. "They told me everything that's been going on since Mission City, y'know- the aliens, their war, infesting this planet like some giant fucking plague. Didn't believe a word of it 'till they brought my girl in to it-."

"Mikaela," Will said.

"Yeah, Mikaela. They knew all about her, y'know? Like they've been watching her for a while or something… Said Mickey's gotten herself caught up in this shit, too. Probably the only reason I was chosen to have my ass hauled out was because they thought I could get close to her to spy on you lot. I would have been able to do it just fine too, if Chase hadn't been around to fuck things up. Her and her fucking boyfriend just had to get in the way, and then I got caught by the bloody Iron Giant over there." He offered a violent flick of his hand in Ironhide's direction. "That little bitch messed everything up."

"Chase?" Will repeated. He knew the name from somewhere, but he couldn't remember where.

"My _sister_," David replied, venom dripping from the one word. "I would have thought she'd be outta there and back home by now, but it seems she stuck around just to be a pain in my ass."

"That's what siblings are for, aren't they?" Epps intoned, leaning comfortably against Ironhide's foot.

"Yeah_, right_. Bet your siblings never pushed your car over a cliff after you broke their hunting bow," David growled. He'd been 18, she'd been 13, and they already hated each other like cats and dogs.

Will shook his head, looking to draw back to the questioning. "Look, you were released at the beginning of September, and yet you only showed up at your place at the end of October. That's two months unaccounted for; what were you doing for SkyWatch during that time?"

"You could call it a trial run," David replied coldly. "It wasn't like they were going to let me loose without some assurance that I was going to do as they said. I was out following leads for alien shit- anything and everything they thought could be a possible lead, they sent me. Let me tell you, I've seen some pretty fucked up shit over the last two months."

"You were posting the possible alien sightings on SkyWatch," Will stated.

"Whatever you want to call it. All I did was walk around, take a few pictures, and then sent it all to my bosses. They decided what to use. I couldn't care less what they did with it."

"Even if it meant exposing the public to something that was bound to start a mass panic?"

"You think I give a shit about that, or _any_ of this? Look, I don't know what your mother fucking superiors have been telling you, but don't _you_ think it's a little weird to be having a secret alien war going on with every government on the fucking planet knowing, and yet no one's breathing a word about it to the public? This entire planet is at risk of being vaporized, and it's all still a huge government secret." He looked to Will and Epps as if they should have understood where he was coming from. Sure, SkyWatch was pretty messed up, but at least he knew what was going on thanks to them. "If every single life on this planet were being threatened with annihilation, don't you think we should _know_ about it? At least have some say in whether we want to die or not? Fuck, I figure SkyWatch is doing everyone a favor by letting people know what's really going on, so at least when this planet blows up, we'll know _why._"

"My people are doing our best to ensure that your planet remains in one piece," Optimus intoned. "Your kind is very prone to mass hysteria, and can wreak havoc if roused to a panic. While the threat of Decepticon attack remains at a minimum, we thought it best to keep the planet uninformed of our presence. I understand your views that the planet should be informed, and to a degree, I agree, but for now it remains in everyone's best interest if our presence remains a continued secret."

"It's in _your_ best interest, alien, not ours," David sneered, finally acknowledging the Cybertronians with more than just a glare. A ruddy colour came across his face with the address, darkening his russet complexion. "There's something called freedom of speech on this planet, and it means everybody has a right to say what they want. If SkyWatch wants to tell the goddamn world the truth, then they fucking can."

"Watch your mouth, little human," Ironhide growled darkly. His cannons whirred in obvious threat, willing to incinerate the little pest in order to end the problem right then and there. David sealed his mouth accordingly, though his expression remained mutinous.

Will craned his neck to look up at Optimus. "I think we've gotten all we can out of this guy. You detect any lies?"

"Not as far as my scans can derive, so I would be inclined to believe he is telling the truth. As it stands, I believe we should move on to Simmons."

"Wait! You said you would let me go if I talked!" David suddenly shouted, instantly on his feet.

"We said we'd let you go, but we never said _when_," Epps intoned. First they had to erase his memory of this whole thing so he couldn't go blabbing to SkyWatch where the big secret alien base was. As soon as that was done, he'd be out of there faster than yesterday's garbage.

Incensed, but unable to do anything in retaliation, David growled a dark "fuck you" and walked underneath the looming berth in his cell to sit in the shadowed corner.

Optimus turned and crouched to be on a more even level with Agent Simmons, regarding the human with a fair amount of interest. "Your affiliation with SkyWatch will be the most interesting to hear," he announced, and then added, "and do not bother to try lying. No matter how well your records advocate your ability to withstand a lie detector, I assure you our instruments are far more accurate."

"I'm sure your instruments could tell me who I fucked last week if you tried hard enough," Simmons retorted.

"Even we can answer that one, smart ass: no one. 'Cause no one would touch you with a ten foot pole," Will shot back. "You already know what we want, so stop dicking around and just tell us. It's been bad enough being stuck down here for the last couple of days with you, please don't make it any longer or one of us isn't going to make it out alive."

"Fine, _Captain_. Where would you like me to start?" Simmons sneered in a mockery of manners.

"Let's start with what the hell you're doing with SkyWatch," Will broached, surprised to receive a sharp laugh out of the agent in answer.

"You really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then care to enlighten us?"

Simmons leaned forward, looking far too superior for a man trapped behind a force field that could fry him to a crisp in a single touch. "What? Do you mean to tell me you guys haven't been doing your homework? No gold stars for you, then."

"We can make your life miserable if you don't co-operate, Simmons," Will threatened.

"You've been doing a pretty good job so far," the agent countered.

"Just tell us what you've been doing with SkyWatch," Will growled.

"I'll do you one better- I'll give you a little history lesson, since you all seem so behind on the times." His eyes glittered with the knowledge he was about to share. "Sector Seven hasn't always been the wonderful government-funded alien conspiracy group you all know and love. There was a time when we had no proof that aliens existed, just the need to protect ourselves in case they did. The group that was first founded was designed to watch the skies specifically for the presence of alien life forms; once the presence of extraterrestrial life was confirmed, the group was renamed Sector Seven in honor of the sector the first piece of alien evidence was discovered in." He didn't bother to mention that it was one of _his_ ancestors that discovered it. "Can anyone be a good little boy and guess what Sector Seven's original name was?"

The answer was unanimously given. _"SkyWatch."_

Simmons nodded with a distinct look of satisfaction. "Yeah, that's right, SkyWatch."

"You telling us you've gone old school on us? Dumping the Sector Seven crap and getting back to the roots of the problem?" Epps asked, eyebrow cocked.

"_Hardly_, but I wouldn't expect any of you to understand. It's not like any of you have bothered look into the matter in any kind of depth, have you? I bet you don't know the first thing about Sector Seven, even with all the paperwork sitting right underneath your noses."

"S7 did a good job documenting aliens, but they're a little sketchy when it comes to saying what the hell goes in _inside_ the walls," Epps growled. He had spent many a night listening to Maggie complain about how vague S7's records were of their activities.

Simmons waved a hand in a grand gesture. "My family has been a part of keeping aliens a secret from the general public for _generations. _I know more about every alien-related incident that has ever taken place on this planet better than you would know your own face. Do you honestly think I would throw that all away for some sore splinters looking for a little payback?"

"I don't know, you tell us; you're the one whose entire career and cushy paycheck was sent down the tubes the day S7 got disbanded. If you ask me, that's enough to make anyone want to go looking for a little payback," Epps said.

Simmons' lip curled. "Sure it does, and there are agents on this base looking for a little payback for the big 'fuck you' the government gave us, but if you even bothered to watch me closely, you'd see I'm not one of them. I've been trying to figure out who is leaking information to SkyWatch."

"That's a load of crap. If you were really trying to figure out which agents turned on base, why not help us? Then we wouldn't be going through this fun little game of Jackass in the Box right now," Epps growled.

"Oh please, have you even bothered to give yourselves a good look in the mirror lately? You're a bunch of army grunts whose only asset is that you can tell the ass end of a gun from its hilt, and that's about it. And to top it off, you're working with an analyst who's too nosey for her own good and a couple of kids who shouldn't even be mixed up in this." Simmons shook his head, clearly disgusted. "I have better standards than that. I'd be better off working alone."

"Really? You call being locked up in an alien jail cell better off?" Will asked.

"Things were going just fine until you got mixed up in _my_ problem."

"It becomes everyone's problem when people start posting pictures of our alien buddies all over the net- and, speaking of which, a lot of the pictures on SkyWatch are from cameras that were supposed to have been confiscated in Tranquillity, which _you_ were in charge of."

"I already told you, there are others on this base that are working for SkyWatch. They must have slipped the pictures out somehow- there's a thousand different ways to send a picture to someone, and not all of them I can keep track of. As opposed to popular thought, I'm not God."

"Don't worry, we never thought of you as anywhere near God," Epps assured scathingly.

Optimus rumbled softly, catching the humans' attentions. "If it is as you say, Agent Simmons, and you are apparently on our side, why have you been eavesdropping on our meetings? That is not exactly the behaviour of an innocent man."

"I needed leads," Simmons answered reluctantly. "Believe me, the last thing I wanted to do was sneak around listening in on your half-wit meetings, but I needed something to go on so I could keep looking. If I knew where some of you were landing, then I would at least know where to go to catch the people SkyWatch has been using."

"So when you drove out to apparently rendezvous with David, you were actually-."

"Trying to catch him? Yeah. Except inviso-bot caught me first and dragged me back here," Simmons sniped. "I've been keeping tabs on everyone- I knew that David had been dragged out before parole, and from the records of his release, I knew that it had something to do with SkyWatch- it had way too many similarities to how Sector Seven works in the paper trails. It was only a matter of time before he was sent back home to check on his brat, and when he did I was going to catch him and send a message to SkyWatch to not fuck with the secret my family has been working their asses off for decades to keep."

"And if they didn't get the message? What would you have done then, Simmons?" Will pressed.

"I know who they are, and they know me. Eventually, I'd be able to track them down."

"You know the actual identities of the people responsible for SkyWatch?" Epps asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I do, to the point where what they're doing is a personal insult to everything I've worked for."

"Tom Banachek?" Optimus offered, choosing one of the names listed in his directory as one of the highest ranking agents in Sector Seven.

Simmons snorted a derisive laugh. "Banachek's been with me this entire time."

"The who?" Optimus pressed.

Simmons shook his head, apparently enjoying holding the power here. "You all got to start looking at the bigger picture here. There's always a bigger fish."

Ironhide finally broke his stark silence, fed up with this game of cyber-cat and glitch-mouse with the human. Stomping a foot to the ground hard enough to rattle the entire structure, he demanded, "_Who are the humans responsible for SkyWatch?" _

Everyone jumped, whether they wanted to or not. The vibration from Ironhide's sudden outburst was enough to cause Epps to stumble to the side, Will to fall from his chair, and Simmons was thrown to the side with a violent shudder. David, forgotten within his cell, remained hunched against the wall glaring from the shadows.

"Whoa, big guy! Take it easy! We're getting to the good stuff!" Will exclaimed as he collected himself from the floor.

Optimus laid a hand to Ironhide's arm. "Some patience, my friend," he urged. Ironhide snorted, backing off.

Epps sent Simmons a pointed look. "Happy now? You got them all riled up. Just give us some names and we'll get off your ass."

Simmons' face creased into a deep frown. "Fine, you want names? I'll give 'em. This circus you're running is getting pathetic." He stood and crossed the cell, stopping short of the faintly glowing force field. "Think about it- who is going to be the most pissed off that their entire life's work- no, not just their life's work, but their entire family's life's work for the last hundred years- just got washed down the drain?"

"Uh, _you_?" Will pointed out rather obviously.

"Big fish, Captain. Think big fish," Simmons replied flatly. "The family that headed the original SkyWatch, and was in command of all of Sector Seven's initiative; the current heads that _were_ in power before S7 was dissolved were codenamed Lady Jaye and Flint, otherwise known as Jaye and Dashiell Faireborn."

Optimus canted his head, briefly running through every record at his disposal. "There are no records of a Jaye and Dashiell Faireborn."

"There wouldn't be, now would there?" Simmons sneered. "They were the big bad bosses of S7- couldn't exactly let their identities be on the radar, now could we? Being above top secret and all that."

"And you are sure this is the family responsible?" Optimus pressed seriously.

Simmons looked more than a little insulted. "You can call this place a little bit like a family business, Optimus- you don't work with these people for over a hundred years without getting to know who's who. Everyone knows everyone." He snorted impatiently. "If you don't believe me, just check your sensor records. I haven't been lying."

After a short pause, Optimus confirmed it with a nod. "No lies have been detected."

"That's it, then- that's all we have to do? Find some people named Fairborne and SkyWatch is over and done with?" Will asked, looking heartened by the news.

"Without any records of any Jaye and Dashiell Faireborn in existence, that may prove a little difficult," Optimus reasoned.

"They're trained better than I am at covering their tracks," Simmons informed grimly. "If they don't want to be found, they won't be."

Will looked from Simmons' set face to Optimus's faceplate, which was drawn into a deep frown as he contemplated the situation. "Optimus, you said we could use any of your guys if we needed them. Think we could call on Mirage's talents to track them down? You said he was part of Intelligence and Espionage- that sounds like it qualifies."

The Autobot's expression shifted subtly, giving a bare shake of his head. "I realize that the situation at hand needs to be resolved as quickly as possible, but with Hound's return and recent onlining I do not believe Mirage will be able to put his full efforts into the mission."

"What about Bumblebee?" the captain offered.

"Bumblebee was once a part of the same division as Mirage and Hound, so his attentions would likewise be divided," Optimus sighed.

Will exchanged a discouraged look with Epps. "That doesn't leave us very many options."

Optimus paused, looking to Ironhide, whose expression darkened considerably as he caught on to what his friend was thinking.

"We know of a renowned hunter who may be of service to us," the Autobot mediated carefully.

"It's a slaughter waiting to happen, Optimus," Ironhide rumbled darkly.

"Who's the hunter?" Epps enquired warily.

"Barricade," Prime replied definitively.

Both humans looked alarmed. "I'm with Ironhide on this one, Optimus- that's a slaughter waiting to happen," Will exclaimed. "I want this over as much as the next person, but I don't want to be responsible for that Decepticon tearing up a house somewhere and picking off the people inside."

"He can be discreet when he wants to be," Optimus insisted. "What other choice do we have? Seeing as I need to speak with Soundwave concerning the arrival of two more bots that will be landing in the arctic tundra near his coordinates, I will see if he can spare the mech for the mission."

"Fine, send Barricade out, but if there's blood, it'll be on your hands," Will said.

"Very well, I will take full responsibility for any fatalities," Optimus agreed decidedly, finally rising from his crouch.

Epps looked about himself from one captive cell to the other. "Seeing as we've dragged about as much information as we can outta these two, I think me an' Will can handle it from here on in. Just a bit of cleaning up and paperwork to do. You two can go back to whatever duties you were on before." He then turned to Simmons for one last taunt. "And since you've been such a good little boy, we'll let you lick the coffee pot."

"Bite me," the agent hissed.

With departing nods, the two mechs left for the lift that would take them to ground level. The ride up was stiflingly silent, Optimus contemplating a spot on the floor, and Ironhide staring unrelentingly at Optimus. Once on the way up, Ironhide had tried to say something, but was stopped when Optimus raised his head marginally, revealing a look that silenced the other mech quickly. As the large cage shuddered to a halt, door easing open with a pneumatic hiss, Optimus straightened from where he had sagged, his hands coming away from the railing to reveal the deep furrows his grip had imprinted on the metal. He had held up remarkably well during the short interrogations.

Ironhide heaved a sigh, slipping a thick arm around his friend to help support him. "Let's get you to your quarters."


	25. Better Luck Next Time

Whew, okay. I'm getting back into the groove after a slight hiccup on the path of life... Here's the next chapter for you all.^^ I wanna give my best props to some of my best friends in the writing business: **Litahatchee, Violetlight**, and **Lady Tecuma**. It's been a blast. :)

Special props to **Violetlight** for her influence on the Nightshade character; the name belongs to her. Props, credit, and hugs.^^

My most special and sincere thanks to the kind and considerate readers of the last chapter who took the time to type out a few words in a review; I want you to know that I deeply appreciate the effort you put into writing your reviews. It lets me know that I'm doing my job as a writer right. Thank you so much to **Flameshield, Bluebird Soaring, Elita One, Goldendreams247, black dragon, Jason M. Lee, CuteKitten, Lady Tecuma, theshadowcat, Bunnylass, Nitefyre, Pandora Starr, Silveriss, Litahatchee, Chloo, Lecidre,** and **BadDogg**. You're all too kind, and I wish to send my best waves of cosmic love to you all!

**Read and review as you please, my friends.^^**

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Some Will Have Better Luck Next Time**

It was after midnight in the tundra when the two protoforms hit, crashing into the permafrost like two bullets to a cement street. November in the outer boundaries of the Arctic Circle had ushered in an early winter, bringing with it a terrible dry cold that swept the flat plains desolate of all life, except for the most hardy forms of caribou and lichen. The crack of metal-against-solidified-dirt rang out in the air with deafening clarity, but the isolation of their landing spot allowed the two aliens to come planet side without detection. As they unfolded from the compact cocoons they were programmed to assume during planet fall, they were both amazed to find that the ground around them had shattered; it was not just a normal crater around them, but a spider-webbed dip in the ground as the brittle permafrost buckled under the immense pressure of their landing. The smaller of the two Cybertronians crouch to observe the phenomena, his scanners noting that due to the dry, frozen nature of the environment they found themselves in, the earth had lost all buoyancy, becoming hard as rock, but extremely brittle.

A cold wind whistled through the empty plain they found themselves in, beckoning them to step out from their craters and into the full light of the frigid white sliver of the moon.

"I didn't think this planet would be so empty..." one murmured, glancing about unsurely.

"Nonsense, this planet is absolutely teeming with billions of organic life forms; it was only prudent for us to land in an isolated sector so as to draw as little attention to our landing as possible." The smaller of the two brushed himself off pointedly, assuming his native Cybertronian form the moment his sensors were aligned so he didn't feel so exposed. "Our escorts are over that ridge, so I suggest we rendezvous with them immediately in order to contact Prime and inform him of our safe entry."

"Right, yeah, we shouldn't keep them waiting..." The larger of the two Cybertronians was also the most unsure of the pair, towing behind his copper companion as they made their way over a slight incline in the hard ground. An odd white material dusted the ground, something that their Earth files told them was _snow_, and beneath the snow was a thin sheet of frost encasing the dried out grass, causing the crackling crunch of their footsteps as they pressed on. "Who do you think is waiting for us? I don't recognize their spark resonances... I thought we would have heard news from someone if more than just the _Uller_ landed on the planet. I know there's dozens of bots and ships en route, but wouldn't we have heard if one of them passed us? You were so clever finding all those shortcuts, like that one wormhole that cut the flying time in half. Surely we would have made it here before anyone else...?" He paused, tapping his faceplate. "But if we did make it here before anyone else, who could possibly be waiting for us? It's not any of the _Uller_ crew, or Blaster, or Wheeljack, if they were able to get through to the planet safely, and I still have Optimus's resonance saved in my files, and it doesn't match his or any of the _Ark_'s crew... I don't understand who could be here."

The smaller Cybertronian looked back at his companion with a flat look. "We shall see who is to be our escorts in a moment. In the meantime, I implore you to not make me regret picking you up in that planetary cluster anymore than I already do. My audio receptors are already on the verge of breaking down."

"Sorry- you know how it is, I talk when I'm nervous. And, well... coming to a new planet that kinda, sorta, maybe will be our new home of the foreseeable future kind of makes me nervous... I want to make a good impression."

The copper bot paused, straightening to his full height, which was only a mere eight feet, if even that, and turned back. "If it helps any, you have already accomplished one thing," he said.

"What?"

"A good impression." With an aloof gesture, he vaguely motioned to the unusual craters they had made.

Despite himself, the mech chuckled. "You know that's not what I meant."

"No, but if it serves to make you any less nervous than you are, my audio receptors will be forever grateful."

Together, they crested the incline, only to come upon a junk heap awash in the cold half-light of midnight. It vaguely resembled the shape of a ship, with the hardly-discernable script along its side reading the _Invader_. What caught their attention was the fact that the ship was not Autobot in design. Instead, it was an antiquated Decepticon design that had obviously seen better days.

A hatch cracked opened, groaning to the ground on hinges begging for oil. Two thick-set mechs exited, lumbering slowly over the uneven ground. Their appearance was certainly not Autobot in design, either; they were malicious looking, walls of towering blackness making their way through the dark. Deep-set red optics smouldered in blank, down-turned faceplates, like malignant flecks of starlight in a lightless sky. The sliver of Earth's moon was enough to cast enough illumination across the mechs to display their glaring Decepticon insignias across their thick chassis, an unholy arsenal of weapons adding to their already considerable bulk. In what felt like slow motion, the two Decepticons came abreast of the newly landed pair, silent as a pair of rocks.

"I... I don't think we're in the right place," the taller of the Autobot twittered, stumbling back a few steps.

"I concur," murmured the microbot.

One of the lumbering behemoths grinned slowly, darkly, extending a hand to perhaps capture one of them and rip them in two. He was never given the chance, as both Autobots transformed rapidly and took off into the frozen expanse of the tundra, running for their lives.

Trojan canted his head to the side, his hand left hanging in midair where he'd extended it to greet the Autobots. Dully, he looked to his cohort, Worm returning his confused look with one of his own. What did they do?

* * *

"Okay, let me get this straight- you just tried to greet them, and they ran?"

Silence was the answer, but the bots did a really good job of gesturing as if they were speaking. Accustomed to filling in the blanks, Nightshade understood easily, albeit with no shortage of annoyance.

"Are you _sure_ you didn't make any threatening gestures?"

Trojan waved his hand, the one he'd offered to the two Autobots.

"I see... Well, I suppose you're going to have to go catch them," the femme sighed, and then observed as the mercenaries gestured to her once more. "Yes, yes, I know you have a lot of experience catching Autobots, but you're going to have to try it without force. We're _Neutral_ now, remember?" The disgust in her voice was nearly palpable, placed in there just for Soundwave to hear as he worked steadily at repairing a monitoring console behind her. Soundwave gave little, if any, indication he heard his apprentice.

Trojan and Worm bowed respectfully before their end of the channel cut out.

Nightshade closed her own end, sparring a moment to contemplate her reflection in the dark screen. Only an orn or two back in the atmosphere and it was as if her little tantrum had never happened; she had touched down outside the _Darksyde_, only to be greeted by Frenzy and Rumble dragging her in by the wings, and since then life had simply _moved on._ It was an odd, sterile feeling that she had never quite encountered before. Things had moved on without her on the planet, and things were moving on with her on the planet. Before, when she had been a Decepticon amongst the ranks, things were always changing, shifting, hectic and wild, but at least she had a handle on that kind of life, she was_ involved _in the chaos. Even as a mercenary under Virus, they were always seeing to the next contract, always acting on someone's orders, and she had been vital in monitoring the transactions to ensure they weren't being doublecrossed. Neutral was not a side of her master Nightshade knew, and she wasn't sure she liked it. There was no longer purpose, or action, or even any reason to live. They just rotted in the moisture of the water-laden planet. The only good thing to come of this arrangement was Soundwave's new commanding status, which had brought a transformation the _Darksyde_'s interior- the ship, in places, was actually clean and operating properly. But that fact that it was under Neutral power... it was weak. Everything about this arrangement was weak. Life was too quiet on this mudball planet.

"The Autobots Perceptor and Bluestreak have landed," she announced flatly, turning in her seat to regard Soundwave's broad back. As she expected, she received no verbal answer, only a nod that was directed towards the console, not her. Trying not to lose her patience, she spun back to her duties cataloguing their contract transactions. It took her by surprise when Soundwave suddenly chose to speak.

"I realize this new arrangement doesn't appeal to you."

Smartly, she waited a moment to answer so as not to sound too eager, "I hate it. I'm a Decepticon, I always have been. I don't know how you and Flamewar can just toss something like that away and make it seem like nothing." As much as she wanted to spin around and glare at her mentor, she resisted, trying to keep as cold a front as possible. She was not going to appear weak in his optics anymore.

"Flamewar has desired nothing more than to be her own master for vorns. I believe giving up her alliance was a trivial sacrifice compared to her absolute freedom. She still holds true to her Decepticon ideals, but claims Neutrality for the simple purpose of being with Barricade without interference. I see no fault in that."

The immediate reaction of repulsion welled in her chassis. Flamewar had once been one of the strongest femmes Nightshade had ever known; the Decepticon Femme Commander who could murder in cold blood if someone looked at her wrong. And she had tossed it all aside for what? _Love?_ The ideal that had always been viewed as the ultimate weakness amongst Decepticons. There were few bonded pairs left, and certainly very few in the Decepticon ranks for Nightshade to have met, but as far as her notions of the idea of sparkbonding went, it was an Autobot weakness, not something Decepticons did.

As if reading her mind, and considering it was Soundwave, there was a distinct possibility he was, he suddenly said, "While the Decepticons have taught you many valuable things, you have yet to learn everything the universe has to teach. War has not been the best mentor for you."

"I'm fine with what I know," Nightshade stated, somewhat mulish.

"Because you know no better," Soundwave stated without apology.

Nightshade finally did turn to face her mentor once more, and found that he had straightened and was watching her stoically, his smouldering visor fixed on her unerringly. "You have been my mentor for almost as long as I've been a Decepticon. If you say I know no better, why did you not teach me anything of worth, if you thought it so important?" It was gratifying to hear her voice sound so cold.

Of course, the glacial tone of Nightshade's voice was nothing compared to the frigidness of Soundwave's stance. "Would you have listened if I tried to teach you ideals that were considered Neutral or Autobot?"

After a brief paused, Nightshade was forced to concede. "No, probably not."

"Exactly. I taught you everything necessary to make you an excellent Decepticon. In all respects, you are an excellent Decepticon intelligence officer; if you wish to continue with that faction's alliance, you are welcome to, I will not stop you."

She caught the nuance in the offer before he even finished speaking. "You will not stop me, but if I remain Decepticon, I will no longer be tolerated in your company, is that it?"

"Yes."

It was a finite answer that stung Nightshade to the core; she was loyal, above all else, to her faction and to her master. To be rejected in such a manner was crueller than if he had attacked her. Unsettled and in need of a reprieve from the unwavering measure with which Soundwave regarded her, she averted her gaze to the rusted floor. When next she spoke, her voice was still just as cold, but a degree weaker than it had been before.

"What about you? You never answered me when I asked why it was so easy for you to throw away your Decepticon alliance."

The midnight-armoured mech shifted, silent for an astrosecond as he considered his answer. "I have always done what I considered necessary to protect my own."

Out of respect for Soundwave and his answer, Nightshade inclined her head silently, continuing to avert her gaze elsewhere.

"So now you have a decision to make."

"I do," she conceded dourly.

"Then go on and make it elsewhere; your services are no longer needed here." With the matter settled for now, he motioned to the door of the bridge. "Go. Waspinator is being subjected to the mercies of Frenzy and Rumble."

Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Nightshade rose, bowed, and left.

* * *

"How's it feel ta be reformatted back into yer own frame?"

"Dunno, gimme a sec." Frenzy flexed his arms a few times before transforming them into piledrivers and rocking them into the ship's floor once, twice, three times, before transforming back in order to catch the hapless insectoid tossed his way. "Feels good."

"That's good, bro."

"Yeah." Waspinator was carelessly handled between two rough hands before overhead tossed back to Rumble.

"Is it weird being back in yer old frame?" Rumble asked, snatching the symbiote by the wing, and then underhanding him to Frenzy. The poor insectoid puzzed pitfully, but was helpless to free himself from the cruelty of the bots who held him captive.

"Guess so... weird at first, y'know? But it's been a few orns since Soundwave put me back in mah frame, so I'm kinda used ta bein' this tall again."

"No more stutterin'?"

"None."

"Good. That was starting ta frag me off like nothin' else."

Waspinator was tossed back, caught by Rumble, who fumbled when the bug attempted to fly away to safety. Rumble sparred the bot little though, bonking it hard enough on the head to stun it, making it a far easier to toss around. Preparing to throw it back to Frenzy, he contemplated his brother's heliotrope frame carefully.

"Ya gonna form a new contract with Soundwave soon?"

Frenzy caught Waspinator easily, enjoying how nice it was to be back in his old frame, being big enough to do something like this without having to scramble wildly everywhere. All he had to do was reach up and catch, and it was so very easy to move even after so long of no one inhabiting the frame, a testament to how well Soundwave must have taken care of the empty shell.

"Don' know if I'm gonna do a new contract. I'm kinda havin' a good time jus' bein' myself, y'know? Been a long time since I've been in my own frame, had my own thoughts without other bots poking around in my noggin... Kinda wanna enjoy it a bit longer."

By the sound that came out of Rumble's vents, he didn't think much of that option. Sure, there had been a time so very long ago when he had not been a symbiote, but after eons, a bond like that starts to grow on a mech. As he caught Frenzy's next throw, he decided to change the subject so he didn't have to start a fight with his brother

"Any idea what yer gonna transscan? There ain't a lot o' things on this planet that are in our range."

"Somethin' like what you got, I guess," Frenzy shrugged, motioning that he wanted Waspinator tossed back. Rumble held back, canting his head.

"Suzuki RMZ-450?" the symbiote questioned. "Nice choice, I guess. It was a glitch tryin' ta transscan it, though. Dirt bikes move fast." It had been a fiasco and a half trying to find something within his range, and even worse trying to find something for Ravage- they nearly had to kill the poor kid driving the four-wheeler in order for it to hold still long enough to scan. Poor Laserbeak, Buzzaw, and Ratbat had yet to find alt modes at all.

"If that's what ya got," Frenzy shrugged unconcernedly.

"Huh, whatever." Rumble gave Waspinator a little twist as he threw him, forcing Frenzy to lunge for the bot. In a jaw-dropping bid to catch the wayward insectoid, Frenzy ran headlong into the wall, which was so degraded by rust that he ended up falling _through_ it with a loud yelp of surprise. Rumble just about busted a vent laughing.

"Oh frag, I fergot ta warn ya- don't touch the walls in this place; yer more likely ta go through them than ya are ta get through any of the rusted doors around here."

Frenzy dragged himself up, dusted lightly with flaked rust. "Thanks fer the warnin'."

"No prob," Rumble grinned. "I thought ya woulda guessed by now, seeing as the whole inside of this place is a disaster waiting ta happen, but I guess ya ain't the smartest bot around."

Waspinator buzzed pathetically from where he was trapped under Frenzy's aft. On his wavering short-range scanners, he sensed the quick approach of his master and was all but crying for her to come and rescue him. Almost as quickly as the insect knew she was coming, Frenzy and Rumble caught Nightshade on their resonance scanners.

"Slag- I'm smart enough ta know when ta hide when she's comin'," Frenzy hissed, grabbing his brother and dragging him through the hole into the dark recesses of the room beyond. In a bid to keep their lives, they activated a dampening field to mask their signatures, and then grabbed Waspinator and rattled him hard enough to silence his whining for his mistress. The last thing they needed was Nightshade to get all twisted out of shape because they'd been abusing her precious little symbiote; they knew the bond between two bots with a contract was strong, but she took her coddling to a whole new level.

"You can't possibly think those poor fields are going to help you any, do you? I was the one who installed the generators, remember?" Nightshade's smooth voice called through the hall, drifting into the dark cavern the pair huddled in.

"Frag, she's right," Rumble growled.

"Mute it. Maybe we'll get lucky."

The tip-tap of approaching feet said otherwise. But, to their utter surprise, Nightshade passed by the hole without even looking at it once. In fact, she seemed downright determined not to pay it any mind, but then she came to the end of the hall, realized the mechs she was looking for weren't in that direction, came back around and passed the hole once more. Her optics remained averted, as if whatever were within was something she did not want to consider.

"Think she's got a circuit loose?" Rumble murmured. It had never taken the femme this long to find him or any of his brethren when she was on the hunt; even when she pretended she was putting effort into looking for them, it only lasted an astrosecond longer.

"Nah, don't look like she's fritzin' or nothing," Frenzy murmured back. He then sniffed the stale air, his vents seizing as he registered the most repugnant stench in the air; from somewhere behind him, something of sizeable bulk shifted, and then _growled._ "Rumble, whose room are we in?"

It took a second for him to access the ship's schematics and compare it to their location. "We're, ah... uh-oh."

The deep, guttural growl drew Nightshade's attention, only to draw her to the hole in time to see a deep-set pair of narrow red optics come online and illuminate the blunt, wide faceplate of Virus. In the Earth months she had been left to rot in her quarters, the moisture of the planet had gotten to her already rotted frame; sea salt had eaten through most of her paint, leaving her mottled black and grey, her already rust-eaten frame degraded further until it appeared to physically pain her to move. The only things left that appeared in pristine order were the long, glittering fangs that lined her ugly face, and the sharp injectors that slithered from her maw. Her unsteady gaze was fixated on the two small quivering lumps of metal that happened to be huddled at her feet. She was looking at them, but wasn't seeing them; her processor was elsewhere, running maddened memories of her former master.

Frenzy and Rumble remained frozen in their crouched place on the floor in front of the looming monster that rose behind them.

Virus reared, optics ablaze with maddened delight. A cold terror coursed through Nightshade's frame as she realized she was about to watch a mass infection.

"Move, you fools!" she screamed.

The order ignited the pair's frozen reflexes, throwing them forward into the hall just as Virus and her viral injectors came crashing back to the floor, collapsing the weakened structural supports. The ensuing crash took hold of the entire ship and shook it, rolling like deep thunder through the bowels and rocking the old junk heap on its shaky struts. Growing from the midst of the deafening noise was a roar that gripped their insides and twisted. A call to the pit for her dead lord and master.

"_**MEGATRON!!!!" **_

Without looking back, Nightshade whipped Waspinator into her arms, and then took Rumble and Frenzy and ran from the barracks. There were some monsters best left alone.

* * *

"More!"

In undulating ecstasy, Barricade did as he was ordered, thrusting his frame forward once more, his spark merging with the hot and writhing entity known as Flamewar.

"More!" she snarled, clawing at whatever was within reach. Around them lay destruction; uprooted trees reached for the heavens with their tangled naked roots, teardrops of dirt spattered across the gouged and charred carpet of the grass. A nearby rockface sported new black singe marks from the heat of the sparks that flew from between them. The animals in the area had long since fled, ever since the first roar of the femme wrought the air and rendered the area uninhabitable for however long she and her mate were going to be at it.

As much as she demanded his presence within her, Barricade pressed back, demanding she join him in the rapture. The passion had grown to such an extreme between them that the ground was beginning to smoulder, fallen trees beginning to smoke. Electric ribbons of fiery blue snaked between them, tendrils of aroused energy lacing their frames together; they couldn't bear to part for even an astrosecond. Their bond demanded mergence; the primal call for their other half left nothing but the demand for the burn of another spark within their own.

Barricade's heavy claws raked into the dirt, and then when he slammed his weight back into his mate, he took a better grip on her armour, denting the dangerous quill-like metal in his mindless need for better leverage. His vents heaved with the effort it was taking him to exceed this third round with the femme; three times in a row wasn't much for any bonded pair, but when one considered the four round they had the orn before, and the two long round they undertook the orn before that, one might start to get the idea that they were a little addicted to each other. Or, at least, addicted to the feel of being with each other.

The feeling coiled deep within them, resonated like a fire. The raw strength of their bond gripped hold of them by the sparks and drew them out of their frames, out of their minds, and spliced them together in an ether of fantastic rapture. It was as if they had lost control of their frames, of their thoughts, of their very sparks, and were drawn by the fiery urges that filled them with a fury. What became of them was a primal mating of the very essence of their beings, bringing together the best of what they were. They were not Decepticons in the Primus forsaken forest they tumbled in, nor were they Neutral as they rolled in the mud; they were lovers, pure and simple, guided by the universal urge to grasp what they held most dear in the universe and draw it near, hold it close.

"Barricade, more!" Flamewar howled, her head thrown back to the dirt ground. She was smeared with earthen material, but paid no heed to the mess she was in. Her processor was buried beneath the storm that raged within and without her. Her frame was not her own, but a shared entity between the two of them, as was Barricade's frame between them.

Instead of replying with words, which was certainly beyond Barricade's abilities at that moment, he replied with a short roar. In a flash, he was up, hauling his femme to her feet. He snarled at her when she bristled, her armour digging into his hands brutally; the backlash from the unintentional damage caused her to howl and spit like an angry cat. With their chassis open and exposed to each other, barely inches apart, their sparks literally pulsing in time to each other, reaching for each other through the wild bolts of blue energy that crossed between them, Barricade turned and crushed Flamewar's frame against the hard face of the exposed rock near them, pinning her there with the strength of his own frame.

That was enough. The coiled power that grew within them burst. Broke. It swelled and roared and consumed them in an angry fury. Their frames seized, arching uncontrollably into the other, as every fibre of their beings writhed in near-painful completion. The noises released from their vocal processors were nowhere near civil; they were the twin calls of primal beings, lovers marking their territory for the universe to know.

They came back to their processors in a slow, shuddering procession. Spasms wracked them. Barricade was the first to slide away, falling to the ground and sprawling carelessly. He was left staring upwards to the vision of beauty he was bonded to, her paint black as night in the shade of the forest, dirt-smeared and shivering from the intense feelings still pumping through her. The way her optics focused on him, and only him, made him feel so powerful, even though he couldn't move a limb. He never imagined he would ever see her again, and here she was, bonded to him, all his for the rest of eternity. With a small growl, she fell to her knees and came into his arms.

"Satisfied yet, femme?" he asked, dragging her frame as close to him as he dared.

"For the moment," she murmured back, grasping her mate tight enough to let him know that he was hers until the universe crumbled.

They laid in panting silence until the sky turned blazing with the death of the red star of the solar system, and then the annoying chirp of their comms ruined their peace.

"Soundwave," Flamewar grunted, recognizing the channel with automatic familiarity.

"Ignore him," Barricade snorted.

Valiantly, they did try to ignore the communications officer, but when Soundwave wished to be heard by someone, there was rarely any stopping him. With disturbing precision, Flamewar felt her communications hub tapped and accessed, the channel opened for the new Neutral Commander's use. Disgusted by the invasion, Flamewar attempted to shut him out, only to find that Soundwave had enough of a foothold in her head to fight back.

"Dammit, this isn't very Neutral of you, Soundwave," she hissed, clutching her head as it burned.

"You were not answering hails," Soundwave replied stonily.

Barriace had his arms around his mate, soothing her as best he could with his limited abilities. He could feel her discomfort, but when the invader was someone from within, he could do little to help her. When they got back to the _Darksyde_, though, he was going to rip Soundwave a new one.

"Get out of her head," he demanded darkly.

Through her external speakers, Soundwave's deep voice rippled in the shadows of the night. "If you had only answered when I called, I would not have to resort to such tactics." There was a pause as the menace is his voice was processed. "What is your current position and tracking status?"

With a snort, Barricade's optics flashed. "We were able to cross the Canadian/American border with very little resistance, and we are now in a forested area in the north-western part of the country, en route to the suspected domicile of the humans Jaye and Dashiell Fairborne. If our progress remains unimpeded, we shall arrive within the capital in the next joor."

"And your intended course of action if or when you come upon these humans?" the mech enquired darkly.

"We shall be under the disguise of human law enforcers, in alt mode and holoforms, and will use that to enable us to detain them. If necessary, we will use force."

"If they should put up resistance, kill them," Soundwave ordered dispassionately.

The smirk that came upon Flamewar's faceplate was poisonous. Even if Soundwave could not see her face, she was sure he could hear the expression in her voice. "Are you sure your new friend Optimus Prime will approve of such an order?"

The dark weight transmitted through the channel was enough to freeze them both. Soundwave's voice was deliberately slow, threatening. "We cannot risk our kind's exposure in such a public and populated area; should the humans decide to put up a fight, eradicate them as soon as possible. Make it look like some form of accident. I will face Optimus when it becomes necessary, but for now I am your leader, and I am saying that the anonymity of Cybertronians on this planet far outweighs the lives of two insignificant aliens. Destroy them, if you find the need."

"With pleasure," Flamewar laughed.

"Now that your orders are understood, starting moving. I have a visual satellite locked on the pair of you, and you have done nothing but waste time lying in the dirt for the past several joors. Do not put our kind further at risk by indulging in yourselves more than necessary; the fires you started have already started to draw the attention of the local fire departments."

Surprised by the revelation, Barricade and Flamewar finally took notice of the few burning trees surrounding them. With a disinterested flick of his claws, Barricade tossed a handful of dirt on the nearest blaze and snuffed it out.

"I guess we're too hot to handle," he offered absently, only to receive a shove from his mate for the jibe.

With a rollf of her optics, Flamewar addressed Soundwave. "Fine, we're out of here, but you take that fragging satellite lock off us or it'll be more than just two humans becoming red smears in the pavement, and I'll make sure it's on national television."

"Very well." The satellite lock was terminated, and then the channel was closed promptly.

With the tension in her head finally ended, Flamewar relaxed into the possessive grip of her mate. She glanced up at him with her optics glittering. "One more round?" she asked. "This time with no one watching?"

He smirked, suddenly a lot less tired than he was before. "Only if you can handle it."

* * *

"**Are you sure this is the place?" **

"**Positive." **

Washington DC was possibly one of the most disgusting places Flamewar had ever found herself in, and after driving through the heart of it for several earth hours, only to find herself parked on the curb in front of a middle-class domicile by human standards, surrounded on all sides by organic puss sacks wrapped in carbon-based flesh, she was seriously considering her sanity in deciding to follow Barricade on this mission. In front of her, her sparkmate had shifted his alt mode to reflect the uniform of a police cruiser, similar to the one she had seen him sporting the night she'd found him. Under extreme reluctance, she had adopted the same alt mode. The belligerence with which she treated the alt mode was almost enough for her to roll out into traffic in hopes of being hit, just to scratch the paint off.

The streets of the city were narrow and packed with alien commuters, their primitive vehicles spewing foul plumes of stench into their faceplates whenever they were trapped in traffic. The noise in the middle of the midday rush hour was unbearable. The urge to raze the immediate area and smear all the tiny, noisy, greasy little aliens into a silent oblivion had hit the femme more than once, and the only reason she had not acted on the urge was because Barricade had had a soothing astral hand on her the entire time. He was a trapped energy that thrummed beneath her armour, telling her there were far more important things in the universe than worrying about the annoyances the humans around them presented. He was a hunter tracking prey, and he was determined to see it through. He was not going to be distracted by his mate.

And now they found themselves in a place designated as a suburban residential district, where the flimsy houses were at least a decade or two old, the siding faded and worn, windows yellowed from the concentration of pollution, and the lawns crisp and dying from the cold of winter setting in. The house Barricade has selected out of the numerous mirror-like images of alien houses was, perhaps, the most un-extraordinary of all; it was a faded blue whose siding had cracked from years of weather abuse, the white mouldings around the windows greyed. All the windows were dark, curtains drawn; the mailbox was overflowing with uncollected mail. The front lawn appeared to have once been cared for once, even sporting an unimaginative flower garden, but it was now overgrown from neglect, and dead from the cold.

Directly in front of her, Barricade's hologram opened his door, exited the cruiser, and circled around onto the pavement. He signalled for Flamewar to do the same. She immediately formulated her holoform next to him, skipping the useless steps of faking humanity. He rolled his eyes at her, sporting such a human expression that she was disgusted to look at him. He was plain and boring in this disguise, alien and repulsive.

"**You are lucky there are few humans around to witness that," **he chastised lightly.

"**They are the lucky ones," **she replied in kind. **"If someone had seen, I simply would have ensured it was the last thing they ever saw." **

Barricade nodded, scrutinizing his mate's holoform carefully. She was newer to the planet than he, and he wanted to ensure that she could pass for a human, no matter how disgusted she was with the idea. Against his advice, she had opted for a female matrix with which to base her appearance after referencing an article on the human myth of Amazon warrior women; while the myth itself did appeal to Barricade as well, the fact that female humans came under greater scrutiny than males did not work in Flamewar's favour. Thankfully, she appeared to have done a good job designing herself; tall and powerfully built, she reflected a warrior. Her flesh tone was a little dark, referred to as 'olive' in some data bases, but of little consequence when the police department in the district was diversified enough to employ humans from a mix of racial backgrounds. What worried him was the scars she insisted on displaying, which were reflective of damages wrought on her own frame; he had warned against them, but she was adamant in keeping them. One unfortunate aspect of her holoform was the fact that Flamewar did not understand the concept of human clothes as well as he did; whereas he knew the aliens employed the use of cloth to cover them as well as help identify themselves as certain ranked individuals, such as the police uniform they projected at the moment, Flamewar understood clothes as armour, to be worn as close to the body as possible for protection, which drew attention from passing human males.

"**I suggest you adjust your matrix to compensate for some slack in your holoform's clothes," **he suggested wryly.

The expression on the female hologram remained blank, the body unmoving, but Flamewar's voice was full of malice. **"Ridiculous, horrid, backwards little creatures." **Her holoform adjusted itself nonetheless. **"Do I meet your approval now?" **

"**You're passable," **he commented. Like Flamewar, he had a certain aversion to seeing his mate reflected in the image of an alien; it was disturbing and grotesque. But, in a bid to better balance their images for a more united front, he adjusted the visual parameters of his matrix to present a taller, more powerful looking human, someone who could essentially be thought of as Flamewar's physical match. The new image would be considered 'latino' by a passing human, but the information was inconsequential to either Cybertronian. **"We should get this over and done with as soon as possible." **

"**I'm not picking up any life signs inside." **

"**That's because they have some sort of dampening field erected around the house- it's being fed by an underground generator." **The vibrations from the medium-sized generator could be felt easily through the tires of their alt modes, though it would have been impossible to sense as a normal human. The mild energy field around the house was enough to distract anyone's sensors if they were inexperienced trackers, or didn't know exactly what they were looking for. **"Come on." **Across the lawn and up the stairs, they did not employ the human custom of knocking or ringing the doorbell; Flamewar took hold of the locked doorknob and twisted it until it broke. Shoveing the door inward, four heavy bolt locks were ripped from their holds in the frame, although they were barred entry by the remaining locks. Several alarms blared to life, only to be silenced in astroseconds by a quick electromagnetic burst from Barricade, who then used his hologram to reach in and break through the half-dozen chain locks that kept the door from opening all the way.

"**If they consider this protection from any form of invader, these creatures are truly deluded," **Flamewar snorted.

"**If we were human, it would have served to deter us for quite a while," **Barricade noted, interested by the number of security precautions employed on such an ordinary house. He stepped in first, and found that if he had not disabled the electronic security devices, he would have stepped onto an electrified mat activated by the alarm. There was enough power supplied to it to cook a real human in a few sort seconds.

"Dashiell and Jaye Fairborne, this is the police. We received a call that there was a disturbance, and we're here to see if everything is alright," Barricade called, modulating his voice to sound as human as possible. There was no immediate answer.

"**Do you think we have the wrong house?" **Flamewar enquired, determinedly standing in the front door, refusing to set foot inside the gloomy, dark residence. **"We only had their designations to reference, with very little to follow, other than a high percentage of servers used to connect to the SkyWatch site are in this city." **

"**There is one reference to a unit of Fairbornes in this city in the local sparkling education center, excusing their offspring from participation in class due to a medical appointment. This is the address filed." **"Mr and Mrs Fairborne, if you are here, I need you to come out. I am Officer Cade, and my partner here is Officer War; we're here to just do our jobs. There is no need to fear-." He stepped on a creaky floorboard, which set off a pressure sensor grid, which instantly activated an automatic trigger to the gun embedded in the wall, releasing two sabot rounds screaming into the air. They passed harmlessly through his hologram and crashed out the front window, smashing into the pavement outside.

**"Are you alright?!" **Flamewar demanded quickly, even daring to step into the stale house.

**"I am fine. The attack merely confirms that these are the Fairbornes we are looking for; if they really were once the heads of Sector Seven, it would stand to reason that they would know our weakness is the high-heat burn of the magnesium in sabot rounds. Luckily, our holograms are not so susceptible." **

**"Luckily, yes," **the femme growled, her fists slowly unclenching from the offensive stance she'd crouched into the moment the gun had gone off.

Casting a deep scan over the house, Barricade took a moment to peer around as he assessed the data. There was a layer of dust across most surfaces, undisturbed for at least a few days; the smell of over-ripened fruit wafted from the kitchen, and from where he stood, he spied a glass of something he determined as milk, but it had curdled and turned to a thick sludge. He notd a few images on the walls, determining them to be photographs of the residents in the house; a mated pair and their offspring. He memorized their appearanced for future reference. The haphazard manner the house appeared in looked as if the inhabitants had left without a second thought, like they'd walked out the front door and simply did not bother to come back. With the results of the deep scan sorted, he determined there were no life signs within the house.

Sensing the aggravation coming over her mate, Flamewar crossed her arms over her holographic chest. **"Perhaps they migrated? Species on this planet have a tendency to do that when the weather changes, do they not?" **

"**Unlikely," **Barricade replied, finding a neatly written piece of ledger laid out on the low coffee table in the middle of living room. Picking it up, he scanned the foreign glyphs, and then crumpled the paper in disgust once the meaning was translated. **"They knew we were coming." **

In short order, both bots were back on the road, screaming for the highway. The message left for them was as much a taunt as it was a blatant challenge:

_Better luck next time. _


	26. They Had Fun

As always, my thanks is in abundance to my dearest and most wonderful readers! I thank you from the depths of my heart and beyond for your continued patronage of my humble little story here. The best of cosmic hugs and love go to **Bluebird Soaring, Litahatchee, Elita One, Cute Kitten, black dragon, Flameshield, Cassiopeia1979, theshadowcat, Jason M. Lee, Silveriss, Lecidre, Nytefire**, and **Bunnylass**. I will forever be humbled by your kind words and inspired to write more by the light you give to my days by your reviews. This chapter is for all of you!

_Logogram/phonogram_- to make this short and sweet, in writing, we either have logograms or phonograms. Logograms are graphemes (glyphs/writing/characters) that represent a word or morpheme (smallest meaningful unit of language). Think Egyptian hieroglyphs or Chinese characters- you have to know what the symbol means to be able to read it. Phonograms represent phonemes, which are the smallest linguistically distinctive sounds in a language. Good examples are the Latin alphabet or Japanese kana, where you can sound out each separate letter/character to understand the word being written.

_Barricade and Flamewar's Police Alt Modes- _Now this is going to be completely superfluous of me, but for anyone who hasn't seen a Canadian police cruiser before, the majority of the country uses a ghost car paint scheme instead of the usual panda paint. There are some districts that use black-and-white, but generally our police force uses white cruisers. How is this any bit relevant to the story? It's not. I just thought it was funny because Barricade and Flamewar imitate Canadian cruisers the moment they cross the border to ensure their hunt remained unimpeded. Now try and picture these two 'Cons as white as snow... Does it hurt your brain as much as it hurts mine? xD

**Read and review as you please~ ^_^**

**As We Come Together  
In Which They had Fun**

"Okay, run this by me one more time... the evil online masterminds behind the internet-hell called SkyWatch, and who are also the evil overlords of the ex-Sector Seven, are actually your aunt's best friends, whom you've known for _years? _Am I getting it right so far?"

Mikaela scowled, replying flatly, "Yeah, pretty much."

Sam took no notice of her tone. "Okay, so... all this time we've been combing the planet for them, they've actually been hiding out in Chase's cottage in freaking Canada. And somehoe it escaped your notice that the evil masterminds were there? Am I missing something?"

Mikaela shot Sam a cold-as-ice glare. "How about the part where you're basically _blaming_ me for not knowing what's happening on the other side of the continent?"

He drew away a step. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to. I could hear it in the tone of your voice." Her lip curled angrily, sufficiently irked enough at Sam to want to hit him. "This isn't _my_ fault. _I_ just found out this morning from Chase that Jaye and Flint have been staying at her place. I've been scrambling as much as anyone else to find them. Just because I know them, doesn't mean I'm going to help them hide!"

"But how could you _not_ know they were there?" Sam exclaimed exasperatedly.

"What did you want me to do? Psychically probe Chase's brain in order to extract the information? _God-! _It's not like me and her talk all the time, you know! Ever since Hound was picked up, she's been- she's..." Her voice hitched angrily, and then she deflated, looking away. "Just drop it, Sam. Leave it alone. We know where they are now, and that's what counts. That's why we're here- to tell Will and the others." She marched on through the base complex without looking back at the teen trotting behind.

To his credit, the moment Sam caught on to that particular stress in Mikaela's voice, he realized how big of a dick he was being. The entire drive into the desert, he'd pestered her with questions, disbelieving that anyone could have wanted fugitives _so_ close and yet not know it. Bumblebee had tried to sooth the situation, but the radio choices had only served to aggravate the two humans. Seeing as there was no helping them, the scout had opted to see to his own duties the moment they'd gotten onto base. There was no way Mikaela could have known anything about what was happening on the other side of the continent without the information being filtered through Chase, and now that Sam thought about that... He grimaced, reminding himself that Mikaela's home life was far from perfect.

He caught up to her, reaching for her arm. "Hey-."

She jerked loose, not willing to give him an opening for another attack. "I said drop it, okay? I don't need you breathing down my neck any more than you already have." She picked up her pace to a quick march.

"No, wait! Mikaela, I'm sorry!" Sam squawked, chasing after her at a jog. "I wasn't thinking clearly- it's just... we've been looking for them for weeks, and they've been right under our noses the entire time. I just feel so stupid for being co close this entire time and not knowing- I'm sorry I took it out on you."

She stopped so quickly that Sam ran into her. The hitch in her breath led him to thinking he might have said the wrong thing, or maybe he'd hurt her by running into her-? When she turned to face him, taking a deep breath for strength just to look up into his face, he noticed for the first time how deep the shadows around her eyes were, and how exhausted everything about her seemed. For the first time, he noticed how absolutely _ragged_ she looked. It wasn't just him that had gotten her so worked up.

"Don't apologize- I'm just really messed up right now. Dealing with my aunt, and then my Dad being released..." She exhaled a tired breath, her eyes to the ground. After Perceptor had modified her father's memory, Hound had been kind enough to offer an escort for David and his daughter to the bus stop. It had been so hard to sit next to her father in the backseat of Hound's cab, knowing that over two months of selective memories had been completely wiped from his brain. They talked little, and if she could, she avoided making eye-contact with him. When Hound's hologram initialized, David had vaguely recognized it as his sister's "boyfriend", but his memories were too scattered to remember the circumstances around how they met. Hound had opted to exchange a few words with him, though Mikaela missed what had been said. At the bust stop, David had distantly laid a fond kiss to her forehead, and bid his goodbyes. They both knew it was unlikely they were ever going to see each other again.

Sam reached out and wrapped her in a tight hug. It was the only thing he could think of for a situation like this. "I'm really, really sorry about all this," he mumbled into her hair. "You don't deserve it."

She laughed bitterly, burying her face in the warmth offered by Sam's body. Even as just friends, he was still one of the best huggers she knew. "Doesn't matter if I deserve it or not, I just gotta deal with it until it's over."

"I wish there was something more I could."

Backing out of the embrace, she peered up at him unsurely. "Do you think I could stay at your place for a few nights? I'll take the couch or whatever...I just need to get away for a while."

"Sure, whatever you need," Sam agreed quickly. The building housing the human sector where they'd find Lennox and Epps wasn't far, so Sam looped his arm around Mikaela's waist and turned her in that direction. This time, they made their way there at a much more subdued pace. "Hey, I'm sorry, again- for ragging on you. I guess I knew things were pretty messed up, but it just never really clicked..."

"It's fine, Sam. I'll be fine." She slipped her own arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder, and allowed herself to be walked into the human sector.

* * *

Hound, once a Guardian to the Centaurie Tetrax Youth Sector, a respected Anthropologist renowned for his studies of organic species, high-ranking scout of the Autobot Intelligence and Espionage Division, was playing in the dirt.

The sun had long since burned to the horizon, cooling the ground substantially as he traced old Cybertronian glyphs in the red-hued dust with his finger. He didn't need the light of day to see by, compensating easily by adjusting the setting of his optics so that he could see just his doodles in the dirt as plain as if it had been mid-day. One glance at the numerous line drawings scattered about in the dirt was enough to tell anyone that Hound was not an artist of any kind. His writing looked much better, by far. The glyphs he was scratching into the dry ground were deep strokes, confidently made by someone who knew them well. He hardly needed to look down to ensure what he was writing would come out right, hence his distant staring at Earth's cold, white moon.

He wasn't sure if he liked the desert as much as he liked the deep forests he'd first encountered on the planet. Sure, the desert had its good points, but there wasn't as much biodiversity in the desert as there was in a forest. Everything was so dry here, the ground a haze of red and beige hues where sands and dust and dry, cracked dirt mottled together into a bleak, stark landscape. Sparse green and brown brambles tangled here and there, and once in a while there would be a cactus to look at, but the land was mostly barren. It wasn't as interesting or green as the forests on the island of Newfoundland, off the coast of Canada. He'd been initially drawn to the greenness of everything on the tiny island- the grass had been green, the coniferous and deciduous trees had been green, the algae that spawned at the edges of the lake had been a greenish-yellow. Green had always been his favourite colour; it had inspired him with stories of organic beings that could photosynthesize, of things called plants that could make their own sustenance by absorbing sunlight. Being surrounded by so many green plants had been like a dream come true, especially after being stuck on the _Uller_ for so long with nothing but metal and space to look at. And now he was here, in the desert, surrounded by dirt. The greenest thing there was _him_.

Not that he was ungrateful.

Oh no, he'd never say anything about being ungrateful. He was more than thankful to be found. There weren't any words to describe how happy he was to be back with his own kind again. He was indebted to Ratchet and Bumblebee for all their help getting him back on his feet so soon. Seeing Mirage and Smokescreen again, being able to know that they were real and okay, and them making sure he was alive and whole... He loved his shipmates more than anything, and it struck him in the spark every time he looked at them how much he'd missed them. There would never be an orn when he wasn't glad to be amongst the Autobots.

And it wasn't as if there weren't endless interesting things around base with which to feed his curiosity. Now that he had access to their internet, he was able to surf to his spark's content, researching this and that. He was able to listen to country music whenever he wanted to, and only had to worry about people telling him to knock it off when he was playing it externally. The World Wide Web had proven a fun and useful tool with which to learn about the world, as soon as one learned to filter out all the porn. But even so, personal contact with the humans was still better.

Luckily, there were humans _everywhere_ to question and talk to on base.

Unlike the treatment he'd become accustomed to while hiding in the shed, the humans that roamed the base were far less reactive, neither hostile nor defensive towards him. When he wanted to find out more about one of them, getting to know the most prominent humans amongst the packs, they were patient and friendly and open, willing to answer his questions to the best of their ability; apparently they had been warned of his inherent curiosity. Of course, there had been no way of warning them of his inherent friendliness, which became rather obvious the moment Ratchet had given him a clean bill of health and a limited range to explore throughout the perimeters of the base. That, of course, had led him directly into the human sector to make new friends amongst the locals, where he'd managed to get stuck under the wraparound balcony and had to be hauled out.

A few times, when he'd found the human younglings on base, he'd interact with them. More specifically, he'd interact with Mikaela, with whom he felt he owed for sitting in her shed for so long and not being able to say a word to her. Perhaps it was also out of the same sense of obligation that he offered to take Mikaela and her father to the bus stop after David's memories had been erased. It had come as a complete surprise to even himself when he had taken David aside and privately warned him that he if ever attempted to threaten the Banes' females again, he would personally make sure the Earthling regretted it. That was not something he did. Ever. It made him uncomfortable to think of what could possibly prompt a gesture like that from him. He chalked the gesture up to latent Guardian programming making him protective of the human youngling. He tried not to think too much about it when he found himself enquiring after Mikaela's aunt whenever he and Mikaela crossed paths; the first few times, she'd answered openly, albeit vaguely. After a week or two, her whole demeanour would change after he would ask after Chase, as if it hurt to think about it. Soon enough, Hound learned to stop asking.

Now he found himself miles in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by desert on all sides, thoroughly distracted by something he couldn't put his finger on. And he was still drawing in the dirt.

He barely reacted when a pair of Pontiacs rolled up on either side of him, one a navy-blue 2009 GTO, the other a sleeker, more dangerous looking ice-blue 699 GTO. They transformed simultaneously, and then took up seats in the dust, successfully destroying the majority of Hound's drawings.

"We missed you at the meeting," Mirage stated coolly, his gaze flicking to Hound's profile once before fixing ahead. Little more had to be said to convey the Master Spy's concern.

Hound started, his gaze dropping from the moon. "Oh... sorry. I guess I lost track of time."

"It's unusual for you to blow off the opportunity to see the human younglings. I had thought you were rather fond of the female one."

"Mikaela," the scout informed absently, shooting a flat look to his left when Smokescreen snorted indiscreetly. Human designations translated into the Cybertronian language were awkward at best; while they did their best to find appropriate translations for their organic friends, some bots still thought the designations were funny.

"Sorry- their designations sound like something out of an old, cheesy holovid," Smokescreen amended, smiling sheepishly.

Mirage rolled his optics, clearly finding human designations beneath his consideration. "Whatever their names, you didn't attend the meeting. We were..."

"Worried?" Hound offered.

"Yes," Mirage sighed. Forever aloof, the most concern he deigned to display was a slight disturbance across his faceplate, the downturn of his mouthplates, the way his optics glanced Hound's way more often than normal.

Smokescreen stretched out, legs extended before him, arms propping him up from behind. "We thought you would have come just to see what the _Darksyde_ has been doing all these orns. You wouldn't believe it was the same crew we've been hunting all these vorns." He nudged Hound with his elbow. "Thanks to female youngling finding out the Fairbornes current location, Barricade and Flamewar are on the hunt again." He chuckled at something, shaking his head. "You should have seen it, one of the most feared femmes in all the galaxy taking orders from a pack of organics. It was priceless, buddy."

Hound chuckled distantly, trying to picture it. He failed. "I'm sorry I missed it. I was out here thinking- I must have lost track of time." He felt it instantly when Mirage and Smokescreen exchanged glances.

"Thinking about what?" the tactician wondered, a tad untactful for someone of his function.

"I don't know," Hound replied, a long breath of air blowing from his vents and stirring the cool dirt around him. "Just thinking, I guess."

Once more, his team mates exchanged glances. While the others on base were not familiar enough with Hound to recognize his constant distraction for what it was, Mirage and Smokescreen had been more than aware of it. The initial preoccupation was explainable- being on a new planet, finally able to connect to the planet's many informational devices, was enough to distract anyone for an orn or two, but the prolonged distraction was worrisome. They had known something was wrong the moment Hound had refused the invitation to watch a basketball scrimmage between some of the humans on base. It didn't help that every time they interfaced with him, it felt as if he were galaxies away.

Deciding to save them the trouble of conspiring a thousand different things to be wrong with him, Hound offered to say a few words to put their minds at ease. "I think I just miss the foliage of the region I landed in, that's all. It reminded me of a few planets I had studied on a while ago."

Smokescreen's optic ridges rose. "You sure that's the only thing you're missing?" He and Mirage were well aware of the adventures their friend had had while missing, and of the organic friend he'd made.

Hound returned his gaze to the sky to help keep a neutral faceplate. "I'm pretty sure. You should have seen it there; it was so _green_ and _peaceful_, and there was a lake full of water, and things called squirrels and bears and moose and fish." He sighed quietly, "it was a nice change from fighting a war."

"I suppose it was," Mirage admitted quietly. His hand moved along the ground silently until it brushed up against Hound's. He took the green-plated hand and squeezed it gently. "But you're with us now. That's alright, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't trade either of you for the world," Hound replied.

"You're a better mech than I am," Smokescreen jibbed lightly, hoping to lighten the mood.

"You'd trade us in an astrosecond, wouldn't you?" the scout asked ruefully.

"Probably, but at least I'd get a good deal out of the two of you," he replied, chuckling. They quieted down for a moment, simply enjoying the murmur of the desert at night- shifting dust in the weak breeze, the skitter of some tiny, unseen organic making its way to its den, and the creak and hum of their internals as they sat. Their spark resonances mingled together in the night air, assuring each of them that their team was together once again. It was nice to simply sit somewhere and not have to worry about the war. It had been such a very, very long time since they had been able to do that.

Sometime around two in the morning, Smokescreen finally chose to rise, stretching. "My shift is about to start- you two going to stay out here much longer?"

Mirage shook his head, rising gracefully. "No, I think I've had enough to the desert for one night. Hound?"

Hound tipped his head back to look up at them. His gaze was still a little too distant for their liking. "I think I'll stay out here a little longer. If I'm lucky, I might get to see a coyote."

"Well, call us if you need us," Smokescreen said, sparing the scout a pat on the shoulder before transforming and making his way to base.

Mirage paused before following suit, finally taking notice of the designs in the dirt around him. A few were squiggly line-drawings of random things, all but declaring that Hound was no artist. What drew the Master Spy's interest into peering closer instead of dismissing the dirt doodles was the series of glyphs scribbled throughout. Some were compilations of Cybertronian logograms and phonograms; there were quite a few of them- trials of different combinations, though none of them formed any word Mirage recognized. One particular phonographic collection came out sounding like "CHK'ACH-ZZZ." Primus only knew what Hound meant by it. The dusty scratch through it denoted it as a failed attempt at whatever he was trying to write.

Curious, he crouched to inspect the writing closer, tracing one of the meaningless words. "What are these supposed to be?"

Hound shrugged, sparing only a brief, dim glance at some of his failed attempts. "Nothing important... I was just seeing if I could translate human designations literally from their English phonetic structure to ours." He mused over it for an astrosecond, looking to the meaningless babble he'd scratched through the dirt. "It's harder than it looks."

The Master Spy traced a few designations that did make sense; the alternate translations of the humans' designations. They looked less funny written down than said aloud. "You did a good job translating these ones- _Sam_, _Will_, _Glen_." The Cybertronian phonemes selected made the designations sound like "ZZZ-AHM" "WER'RILL" and "G'LII-EHN" when said aloud in the electronic pitch of their language.

"Shorter designations are easier- they have less phonemes to translate," Hound explained, a little sheepish.

Mirage smiled indulgently. "At least we'll have them catalogued in case we have to write them into reports."

"Yeah. I'll record them once I get back to base."

One particular designation caught Mirage's attention, if only because it didn't fit with the translated designations of the prominent humans on base, nor was it the designation of any bot he knew. It was made up of two characters, the first being the glyph representing the verb "_to chase_" and the second being a personal indicator, making it a designation rather than a verb.

Catching on to Mirage's interest, Hound drew his hand through the glyphs, erasing them. That was one designation he didn't want to draw attention to; he was supposed to be getting on with his life, not lingering.

"Don't you want to get back to base?" the scout pressed, though there was no particular heat in his voice.

Not wanting to push his friend further than he was willing to go, Mirage bowed to the unspoken plea to leave. He knew who that translated designation had been for. "Alright, I'll leave you be." As an afterthought, he laid his sharp, ice-blue hand to Hound's broad shoulder. "It's better this way, Hound. You're with your own kind now."

Knowing exactly what he meant, Hound nodded, though kept his gaze firmly on the sky, away from Mirage. "I know that, I do... I'll get over it soon enough."

"I hope so. It would be nice to have the old Hound back." With a final pat to the scout's shoulder, Mirage transformed and headed quietly for base. Both mechs knew Hound was not the kind of bot to just get over things, but it was a nice thing to wish for regardless.

* * *

It had taken very little time for Flamewar and Barricade to backtrack across the continent. Knowing the terrain better helped immensely with speed. Not caring who got in their way helped more. Across the border, through the provinces, and ending up on the isolated island of middle-of-nowhere Newfoundland, they were met by Buzzsaw and Ravage, informing them that Soundwave had sent them ahead to confirm the presence of the humans in the indicated domicile. Rumble, Frenzy, and Laserbeak had been left there, hidden, to ensure the humans stayed where they were until Barricade and Flamewar arrived.

Of course, the impending hell-on-wheels that was about to roll in meant very little to the couple who lived down the road from the Banes' cottage, seeing as neither of them were psychic or aware of the alien presence on their planet. The most they were worried of was the looming winter on the cusp of breaking, the heaps of snow and ice readying to drop on the island, and the fact that one of their friends still wasn't picking up their damn phone.

Josie sighed, hanging up the phone after her fourth failed attempt.

Hearing the click of the phone on its cradle, Chip glanced up from the computer screen he was concentrating on, logarithmic equations flying by. "Still couldn't get a hold of her?"

"Yeah- I tried her home phone and her cell. I even called her work number, and they said they haven't seen her for a while." Anxiously, Josie rubbed her arms, unable to decide if she was cold or scared of whatever was stopping Chase from answering her phone. "I'm getting really worried about her."

Chip shrugged. "Don't get too worked up about it. You know how Chase is- she'll disappear for a few days, and then come back and call us up like nothing happened. She's always been like that; can't pin her down, even if you tried."

Pursing her lips, Josie wandered out of the kitchen into the small living room, moving to the corner to poke stubbornly at the fire in the wood stove heating the room before flopping onto the dumpy couch shoved against the wall. "Sure, I get that- she disappears when she wants to, but not for this long. It's been almost a week and a half since I last got a hold of her..."

"So?"

"_Chip_, I'm worried! Mikaela's not even picking up the phone- if I knew her cell, I'd call, but-."

"Listen to yourself, sweetheart- you're obsessing. Chase, Mikaela; they both have Banes blood in them- that pretty much means they can take care of themselves," Chip pointed out absently, returning to the program he was trying to put together. "Why don't you put in a movie or something? Find something to distract yourself before you drive me crazy."

Picking at a lump in the cushion next to her, Josie refused to be distracted. "What if she's having a relapse or something? She hasn't told Mikaela about it, so there'd be no one there to snap her out of it..."

Chip leaned away from the computer desk, his expression flat. "She's _fine_, Josie. If something happened, we would know. Someone would call."

She ran her fingers through her reddish hair. "You're right, someone would. Someone would _so_ call us!" She sat in silence for a second, jiggling on the couch with way too much anxious energgy. "Oh- come on! I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Don't you get the feeling that something's off?"

"Not really," Chip replied blandly.

"You're no help." In quick succession, she got up, walked back out to the kitchen, rattled through the dishes in the sink, abandoned them when she couldn't concentrate on washing them, and then wandered to the front door, where she started slinging on her boots and jacket.

"Where are you going?" Chip asked as he watched her wrap a thick scarf around her neck and tug on some mittens to ward off the biting cold that had set in off the Atlantic.

"I'm going over to Chase's cottage to check on Jaye and Flint. Maybe they've heard from her."

"Or maybe you're worrying over nothing."

She opened the door determinedly, glaring down at Chip with fiery green eyes. "Better safe than sorry."

Chip sighed, conceding to the fact. "I'll come with you."

Piling into their truck, they drove the short distance of Chase's secluded patch of land. It was the oldest cottage by the lake, built several decades before by Chase's parents, and thankfully left in peace from the seasonal cottages dotting the shore. As Josie and Chip passed through the weather-abused gravel driveway, gouged deep with ruts from rainfall, they curiously noted two abandoned dirt bikes leaning up against a leafless tree, nearly hidden in the thicket of trees. Deciding they either belonged to some local kids, or they'd been left there by Chase to rot, they came into the wide yard of the Banes cottage and swung up next to the Fairborne's heavy-duty black SUV.

Two hunched figures could be made out next to the house, both wrapped tight in winter attire to ward off the chills, hunkered close to the ground as if observing something. The section of grass they stood over looked as if it had been burned away while ago, not just killed from the cold. A sample of it lay in a medium-sized glass jar on the crooked picnic table nearby. Rounding the side of the house, Josie threw up her arm in greeting to the pair, who had already straightened to welcome them.

"What a surprise- we weren't expecting you," Jaye laughed, coming forward to embrace Josie. "Sorry if you tried to call ahead, we've been out here all morning."

"Oh no, this is just a spur of the moment thing," Josie said with a wave of her hand, looking around as if to try and gauge what they could have possibly been doing outside all morning.

"Ah, well, why don't we all go inside then? No sense freezing our asses off out here for a social call. We'll put some coffee on and have a good visit." As discreetly as one could imagine, Flint started ushering the pair towards the front door, leaving Jaye to snatch the glass jar with the dried sample of energon in it, and then check her Geiger counter-watch for any signs of alien activity. The needle had been flickering for as long as they'd been on the property, which they chalked up to residual radiation deposits left by whomever had been there previously. It never occured to them that there might be watching aliens just out of range of their watches.

Guided into the warm, wooded depths of the Banes cottage, Josie had the sense to ask, "Have either of you heard from Chase the last little while?"

The door clicked shut behind them, and then Flint firmly slid the locks in place. "From Chase? No, haven't heard from her in a while." The last exchange they'd had with Chase was after the rather informative call they received from her older brother, which had consisted of him swearing the needle of his counter had just about flung off when he'd went home, and then there came the sound of screeching tires, screaming breaks, a haunting electronic melody, and finally a deep, gravelly mechanical voice demanding for David to exit the vehicle immediately. Knowing their informant had been caught by the Cybertronians, the only thing left for the Fairbornes to do was pack up and make a run for it; they knew what the NBEs were capable of and were not going to lay like dogs waiting for the machines to come and find them.

Jaye bustled into the kitchen, stashing their dirt sample in a cupboard where it wouldn't be found, and then setting up the coffee maker. "Why? Do you think something's happened to her?" There was genuine concern in her voice, not faked. The NBEs were a dangerous sort, and if Chase was mixed up with them... She was the kind of person stupid enough to do something to get herself killed.

Josie shrugged haplessly. "See, that's the thing, I don't know. Not even Mikaela has been picking up the phone when I call..."

"Tell her she's obsessing, will you?" Chip pleaded. "We're all adults here, and if one of us decides to go AWOL, that's their business. Please tell her Chase is _fine_ wherever she is."

The way Jaye and Flint flashed anxious glances to each other only served to invigorate Josie's concerns further, and exasperate Chip. What served to enflame the Fairborne's fears even more was the way their watch-designed Geiger counters suddenly went ballistic.

* * *

The moment Barricade and Flamewar crept into the vicinity, Laserbeak glided out of the tree she had taken cover in- a towering green pine whose thick needles served as great camouflage. "We've confirmed that the humans known as LadyJaye_13 and Joe-Flint47 are within the small wooden domicile. They are accompanied by two other humans that we've identified as Chip Chase and Josie Beller, both of whom function as programmers on the nearby military compound."

"Are they in league together?" Barricade enquired.

"It is unclear what their connection is beyond a social capacity."

"Take em' all just to be safe," Ravage growled, prowling the trees like a wraith. ,

"Or squish 'em all ta be done with it," Rumble grunted, already in bipedal mode in anticipation of storming the tiny domicile.

Flamewar shifted on her wheels, loath to agree with the little symbiote but finding that his suggestion was the most appealing. "We're not being paid for this, and no one will know if they put up a fight or not; we can kill them from here and no one would be the wiser."

As tempting as the suggestion was, Barricade subtly rolled himself before his mate, blocking her. The hunt had been entertaining, to say the least. He never thought a pair of carbon-monkeys could prove so elusive. It seemed wrong not to give them one last chance to prove their worth in the chase. "We'll stick to the plan. If they become too difficult to handle, then we kill them."

Feeling the beast roll beneath Barricade's tightly held veneer, Flamewar acquiesced.

"What shall be our first move?" Laserbeak enquired pointedly.

Barricade made a rumbling noise, scanning the area. "Rumble, Frenzy, and Ravage will go ahead and flush the humans out of the structure. You and Buzzsaw will hang back in case any of them decide to run for the woods. Herd them towards Flamewar and I- we will incapacitate them."

"You got it, boss," Rumble said, following after his brother as he slunk towards the lone cottage. Ravage was a few steps ahead of them, slinking out the trees. Fully expecting to take the humans by surprise, it came as an immense shock when a piercing white laser beam blasted through the kitchen window and struck Ravage in the flank, throwing the feline mechanoid back into Frenzy and sending them tumbling. Rumble was quick to react before he could be shot, rolling to the side, flipping up, and instantly transforming his arms into piledrivers. A shriek rose from within the domicile as it shook from the subsequent percussion waves.

"What's going on? Where the hell did you get that gun?" someone was screaming.

"Shut up! Shut up, if you want to live!" Several more rounds of the strange white laser shot out the shattered window, but thankfully missed Ravage and Frenzy's prone form. Frenzy was quick to rise, shaking himself off and joining his brother in shaking things up with his piledrivers. Ravage was slower to get up, the armour of his flank completely burned through.

"What kind of weapons are those?" Laserbeak hissed, taking to the air despite Barricade's order to hang back. A hot beam passed by her head, searing the paint. She spun hard to the right, but a secondary beam struck her in the wing, causing her to spiral into Buzzsaw.

Barricade and Flamewar were up in astroseconds, running into the small clearing with their own weapons drawn. The door to the cottage kicked open, four humans crowding out. Two had strange weapons drawn, a combination of primitive human and Cybertronian technologies. The humans huddled behind them were wide-eyed, heart rates shooting through the roof. One was confined to a wheeled structure, rocking on the wheels as he tried to figure out which way to bolt.

The female wielding one of the lasers turned her sights on Barricade and shot with abandon, aiming for his spark. A roar rose from Flamewar as she saw the attack coming, first lashing out to throw her mate out of the way, and then lunging for the humans. Her shoulder was pierced by a shot from the male, but not before her claws swiped the doorstep out from underneath them.

Chip and Josie were flung one way, Jaye and Flint flew the other. Flint was up first, taking aim for Flamewar's head. Barricade's flail was unleashed, tearing into the ground and throwing the human several yards into the woods. Jaye scrambled to stand, her weapon too far away to dive for. Barefoot and jacketless in the freezing cold, she withdrew from beneath her sweater a compact version of the magnesium-burn lasers she and her husband had had stashed in the coat closet in the cottage. It was smaller, less powerful, but it would have to do as she launched herself towards Josie and Chip's prone forms. Chip was the one she tried to get to first- Josie could run is she had to, but Chip had been knocked from his wheelchair.

Ravage got there first, pouncing on Josie first to incapacitate her first, and then grabbing Chip up in his jaw and shaking him until he was out cold. Jaye snarled; she was trained too well in combat to freak out. She'd studied video from the Mission City battle for hours just to know how the enemy moved, where their likely weak spots would be. In a split second, she slid for the ground and aimed beneath Ravage's head to the open hollow connecting the head to the neck. The shot was never fired, Laserbeak giving an outraged shriek before she dived on the human and pinned her with her weight, talons crushing the bones in the female's forearms.

"Jaye!"

Flint's wildfire volley of shots caught several of them off guard. One shot landed Barricade square in the back, one ricocheted off Rumble's piledriver and struck Frenzy in the foot. A number of the headed for Flamewar, but she collapsed into her alt mode before she could be struck. Kicking up a spray of dirt, she flung herself behind the cottage for cover. Distracted by her rapid retreat, Flint concentrated on the movement, zeroing in to take out her wheels. The astrosecond granted by that gave Barricade ample time to transform. Engine growling, he shot forward and rammed the alien, sending him high into the air with a satisfying crack of bones, and then skidding across the ground in an unconscious, bloody heap.

Transforming to pick the male up and toss him into the pile the other humans had been heaped into, Barricade turned to survey the damage. From behind the cottage, Flamewar transformed and circled back around. She glared balefully at the humans, and then turned to Barricade with her optic ridges arched. Her shoulder was oozing, though she paid no heed to the damage. Ravage leaned heavily against Frenzy for support, Rumble and Buzzsaw helping Laserbeak balance.

Barricade opened a channel to Soundwave, who answered immediately.

"You have the humans in your custody." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"You were watching us," Barricade growled.

"Yes. I will alert the Autobots to the capture; they will arrange transport for the humans."

Unconcerned with what fate would befall their captured prey, Barricade gave a grunt.

"My symbiotes, and Frenzy, will be returned to me immediately."

"Don't worry, it's not like I wanted to keep them." The channel closed, he turned to the gathered bots, who watched him with varying degrees of interest. "Your master wants you back. Get lost."

"Oh yeah? Well, _yer welcome_ fer all the help, ya glitch" Rumble drawled. As one, the group turned and slunk off into the woods, patently accustomed to being underappreciated.

Once the symbiotes were out of range, Flamewar slinked forward and nudged the small pile of unconscious aliens with her foot. When she looked to her sparkmate again, her expression was unmistakeably bright, her spark pulsing heatedly from the thrill of the short scrimmage. She had never imagined humans, puny little carbon-based, puss-filled aliens, could put up such a fight.

"That was more fun than I thought it would be."


	27. They Meet Again

Alright, a little bit of sexual tension, a little bit of angst, and some character development just for spice. How's that for a chapter, huh? It was a kicker to write, so I hope you all enjoy. A d since I do this with my other two fics, I might as well start thanking everyone properly in this fic , too.

Thanks so much to the reviewers of the last chapter: **Flameshield, Bluebird Soaring, Elita One, Cute** **Kitten, Bunnylass**, **C****a****z, ****S****i****l****v****e****r****is****s, ****L****e****c****i****d****r****e, ****a****n****d ****V****i****o****l****e****t****l****i****g****h****t.** You guys are amazing! :)

_Posttraumatic Stress Disorder- _Also known as PTSD; it is thought to be as common as affecting 1 in 10 people. It is a type of anxiety disorder that is developed after exposure to psychologically and/or physically traumatic events, such as experiencing war, physical assault, sexual assault, disasters/accidents, drug addiction, or illnesses. Diagnostic criteria for PTSD includes A) exposure to traumatic event, B) persistent re-experience (flashbacks/nightmares), C) persistent avoidance of associated stimuli (inability to talk about experience/avoiding talking about symptoms for fear of losing control), D) persistent symptoms of increased arousal (trouble falling asleep/staying asleep, anger, and hypervigilance), E) duration of symptoms for more than one month, and F) significant impairment in social, occupational, or other areas of functioning. Severity of cases may vary. Alcohol abuse in PTSD suffers is common because imbuement reduces the number and frequency of frightening nightmares/flashbacks, but it also prolongs the cycle of avoidance of proper treatment, making it very difficult to treat an alcoholic PTSD sufferer. PTSD can be treated through therapy programs.

_Nattesg'g Muin_- pronounced nat-tes-kêk mu-iin. The name is comprised of the Mi'kmaq verb "to chase" and the noun "bear". While traditional names are less common nowadays, 30 to 40 years ago (and more) is a different story, especially in isolated areas.

**Read and review as you please, my friends.^^**

**As We Come Together  
In Which They Meet Again**

"_Ironhide..." _

Her sharp fingers delved into the crevices along his faceplate, drawing him towards her so that their forehead could brush together. She brought them so close together that the light from their optics melded together, washing over each other. Her faceplate may have changed, her frame modified with heavier armour, limbs reinforced with heavy-duty hydraulics, but her spark would never change. Eternity could pass between them and he would always know her.

"I missed you."

"_I know... I missed you, too." _He tried not to think about how quiet her voice sounded as she whispered in his audios. She was so tired. When her spark reached out through the infinitesimal space between them, seeking strength from Ironhide, he let all walls fall aside. What she needed, he would gladly give. Even without the physical brush of their sparks together, she drew on him, allowing herself to be wrapped in the thick, protective embrace of Ironhide's presence. He drew her into himself, bringing with her the essence of her life- ferocity, loyalty, determination. He memorized her again, and it felt as if it were for the first time.

'_Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to come back? Every orn, I would online thinking the Ark was going to fly into the docking bay, and every orn, you didn't come..." _She paused, taking a shuddering drag of air through her intakes and releasing as if she were trying to release every bit of tension that had built up in her frame. The grip she held on his faceplate tightened fractionally, pressing his closer into her dusky blue frame. _"You promised me you would come back, but you never did." _

There was no anger as she spoke. There was no lashing heat from her spark. What Ironhide felt was weight, not temperature; an eternity of losing hope, a little more each day, until finally she stopped hoping all together. Everything within him clenched as he realized the weight of what his mate had been forced to shoulder. She hadn't had the same assurances he had; while he always knew where she was safe within the ranks of the Autobots, she never knew where he was. All she had to comfort her was the dying feeling in her spark that he was alive, growing farther and farther away each orn. Ironhide had always taken comfort in knowing where she was, even if she left Cybertron, she would still have the Autobots, but what comfort did he offer her? He was off in unknown space, facing down Primus only knew what, and the only way she knew he was still alive was because she wasn't dead.

The mere thought of what she had been forced to endure all this time... His own pains seemed to infinitesimal in comparison.

"I would have come back to you, I swear."

"_You would have come eventually, I know that. But you know me- I got tired of waiting." _

"I didn't mean to make you wait so long."

"_You didn't mean to, but you did anyways. We're together now, that's what counts." _

The hands along the edges of his faceplate smoothed back, moving to encircle his neck. His arms moved automatically in response, crushing her smaller frame to him, wrapping his thick frame around her in desperate possession. She was the one treasure he never wanted to let go of again. Dark, thick fingers traced the slates in her amour, exploring the precise curves and wickedly sharp edges; he delved in between plates of armour to touch the sensitive wiring beneath, if only to see if she would make the same sounds of pleasure he loved even with this foreign frame. What reached his audios was a laughing gasp, a sound that tickled his audios and heated his energon. He growled deeply, loving the sound, wanting to hear it again- an intimate stroke underneath her back plating elicited the most wonderful groan, even urging her frame to arch into his.

"_Primus, I've missed you, everything about you,"_ she growled, a sensuous caress from her spark accompanying her words. When Ironhide rumbled in reply, pressing his own chest down onto hers, grinding them together even though their chassis remained closed, she laughed, arching again, throwing her frame into grinding against his. Sparks erupted from the slow, heavy grinding. Their armour caught, locking, and then releasing with creaking screeches. Their movements were laced with the static shock of blue lightning, crisscrossing between them with soundless need. A sharp blue hand delved between them to cross through one of the hot energy streams, leaving the electric blue light to flicker on her hand for an astrosecond before the very tips of her fingers dug into the slates of his armour and touched on a major neural relay. Ironhide's reaction was instant and violent, eons of being left unfulfilled fuelling his short roar as his frame went rigid, limbs locking, as his mate played with him.

They explored, taunted, and teased until they were near-delirious with each other. They ached beyond the physical sense for what the other could give. Fans whined, coolant surged and roiled in their lines, their energon hot and rushing; the longer they touched and writhed, the tighter their frames became, enclosing on their innards like a burning vice. The heat of their arousal was rippling pleasured pain- an eternity in the making they were no longer willing to wait any more for.

Simultaneously, their chassis opened. The explosive light and aroused power of their sparks so close, so desperate for their other half, caused an electric ripple to pass through the heated air. Hot, searing ribbons of living electric arousal danced and fought between them, grasping and clawing for the spark they sought to be brought near. They were _so close_ to being whole again. The intense _excitement_ that rolled through, the tight, squirming feeling to sinking into that one perfect heaven of heat and pleasure- it was almost too much for them to bear. If they waited any longer, they'd be lost to the madness that threatened to consume them.

"_Ironhide, don't make me wait any longer than I already have. I __**need**_ _this." _

Primus, he needed it, too. It was an astral storm of sensation between their sparks as they hung suspended mere breaths away from each other. Staring down into her darkened optics, feeling the searing need of her spark as it pulsed, crying out for him... It was almost too good to be true. Poised above her, shaking with the effort it took not to simply ravage her, he dipped his frame until the burning, electric, liquid, wild feeling of merging his spark with hers was so real he could taste it.

And then the spell was broken.

Blinded, disorientated, Ironhide shot up, dangerously wild as he tried to get his bearings. His entire frame was vibrating with unreleased tension, and yet his spark felt ragged, as if it had been torn apart. The moment he could think a straight thought that something was missing.

Chromia wasn't with him anymore.

It was an astrosecond too long waiting for his optics to online. As his dark quarters fizzled into focus, a cold shock shot through him when he realized his chassis were open. Not only open, but his sparkcase was exposed, long licks of electricity lashing from it, dissipating disappointedly midair. His fists were clenched against the edges of the berth on their own accord, crushing the metal. A dangerous hum underscored the harsh blows of air that hissed from his vents; he recognized the hum as the sound of his deployed cannons, whirring softly as they charged.

"Frag... _Frag..."_

Feeling as if his frame were not quite his own, it took a moment for him to manage to gain back control. First his cannons rolled back into his arms, and then he pried his clenched fists from the edges of the berth. The tension in his frame was so immense that is was actually painful to move. His processor was a jumble of images, sensations- it was hard to decide which reality he was seeing was real. With great effort, he managed to close his chassis, confining his spark once more- his armour was hot to the touch, almost burning. When he moved to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the berth, he was disturbed to find his limbs shaking, actually shaking, to the point where he could hear the tremors.

A hand scrubbed across his faceplate, trying to bring himself back to reality. Optics shuttered, shuttered again, and when he opened them for the third time, he felt as if he should be seeing Chromia materialize in front of him. Even now, she felt so close. So _real_. It wasn't just memory replays from recharge either- those were new images, things he'd never seen or said before. Dreamlike, almost- except Cybertronians didn't dream.

"Frag it!"

The resounding crash of his fist into the wall made him feel slightly better. He didn't want to dwell on the idea that he was going crazy. He had enough problems to deal with without worrying about going crazy, too.

Doing what he did best when he didn't want to deal with something, Ironhide stood, steadied himself, and then marched out, heading straight for the rock outcroppings off base where he knew he could let off some steam. A joor's worth of mindless shooting released a lot of the tension. His spark still hurt like pit, but he'd have to be laying in pieces, dying a slow death, before he went to Ratchet over something like sparkache. Incinerating rock was very therapeutic. By midday, though, he was drawn away from shooting by a short message from Epps informing him that one of their human guests was awake and that they would try to see what information they could get out of her. While the interrogation was of little interest to him, and the SkyWatch investigation as a whole was for the humans to look after, the text in itself was a kind gesture.

Telling himself that he was returning to base for the military value of further evaluating the magnesium-burn lasers the Fairbornes had been packing, Ironhide transformed and drove the few miles back onto base. He was surprised to find that the main warehouse for weapons' storage, the one that he generally used as his personal stockpile of weapons he was developing from human and Cybertronian tech, was not devoid of sentient life like it usually was when he wasn't tinkering in it. For all the strangeness the day had already brought to him, seeing Hound hunched over the workstation at that far end of the long, narrow room was the last think the weapons specialist expected to find. If memory served right, Hound could generally be found on the other side of base, _away_ from the weapons.

"Can I help you?"

Despite being fully aware of Ironhide being there- his spark resonance was one of those really bold ones that were hard to miss- the grating, rough sound of his voice breaking the silence made Hound jump. Immediately afterwards, he was scrambling to catch the tiny human bolt he'd been handling, which promptly hit the floor and disappeared underneath a cache of parts from the _Uller _Ironhide had been sorting through.

Deciding that the bolt was now a lost cause, Hound straightened with a more-or-less guilty expression. He hadn't meant to get caught. "Sorry about that... I'll, um- get you a new bolt."

"Don't worry about the bolt." He sounded gruffer than usual, his excuse being the wake-up call he had. Moving into the warehouse, he warily scanned everything to see if it all was still in working order; he wouldn't put it passed the pacifist to try and decommission all his weapons. "You wanna tell me what you're doing in here?"

"Sure... I'm just- uh, checking out the Fairbornes' weapon designs." He held up the main body of the laser he'd been inspecting, the panels of one side removed to allow access into its minute inner-workings.

"Is that so?" the disbelief was so thick in his voice it was practically dripping.

By the guilty look on his faceplate, Hound knew he was caught, but as he fiddled with the laser, he decided to try his luck anyways. "Yeah, see how they managed to incorporate our thermal concentrator designs with their refractory technology, and based the entire weapon off of our specific weakness for the high-heat yield a magnesium-burn attack generates. It's really creative, in a super dangerous for us sort of way, don't you think?"

"Very creative," Ironhide conceded.

"I guess you're going to try and replicate this into something our size, huh?"

"Yes, as soon as you put down the gun and step away from my workstation." Gaze narrowing, Ironhide moved deeper into the armoury, Hound unconsciously taking a few steps back as he was slowly overtaken by the older mech's imposing form. Taking the laser from the scout's slack hand, the weapons specialist was mindful to setting it back down without damaging it, and then made it a point to turn back to face Hound and loom over him in the semi-darkness his weapons bay offered under the midday sun. He and the scout were of similar height and bulk, but Ironhide had a presence about him that allowed him to tower like a storm cloud. "You mind telling me why you're really here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know it's been a while since I've been on Cybertron, but I sure as pit don't think you've changed that much; the armoury isn't your idea of a good time, so why are you here?"

Hound shrugged, leaning back against the slab of metal that served as Ironhide's workbench. "Can't I be interested in the cultural implications of technological exchange between us and the humans?"

"No, not when there's a bunch of humans around that you could, and _should_, be pestering, instead of being in here. You don't like being in here, and we both know it."

The scout sighed, turning his head to trace the floating dust in a mote of light. "Okay, I don't like being in here, but I needed a distraction that didn't involve alien contact and this is one of the few places on base that offers that."

An optic ridge went up. "That doesn't sound like you."

"That's just it, it's not me, but lately... lately, I haven't been able to concentrate on much and I'm starting to think that Ratchet didn't clear out the virus as well as he thought he had. It's worse when the humans are milling around. I thought that if I could just find a quite place on base, I could get some work done, or get _anything_ done, really." Hound's honest gaze slid back to Ironhide's, a half-smile on his mouthplates. "But you don't want to hear about my problems, do you? You must have enough to deal with." His gaze strayed to Ironhide's chest, to his spark, before darting back up. Ironhide caught the discrete glance, reminded that Hound was not a scout for nothing- he was disturbingly observant of those around him, even if he wasn't so aware of himself.

"You're right, I have my own problems to deal with," he rumbled, not meanly, but firm enough to get the point across that he wanted to be alone.

"So, I should be going, huh?"

"I think that would be best."

Hound shifted, scuffing the floor. "Okay... but, before I go, is there anything I can do for you?" When Ironhide cast him an enquiring look, the scout shrugged, waving a hand aimlessly in the air. "I mean- if you need someone to interface with, or just to talk to, I'm here. It might help you help with, you know- your condition."

Ironhide smirked darkly, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. I can deal with my condition just fine. It's nothing you should worry about." As an afterthought, he added, "Thanks anyways," just to let the scout know the offer was appreciated.

"Ah, okay, I guess I'll be going then. Maybe I'll go see if Ratchet will run a diagnostic on me." Creeping to the warehouse's door, Hound glanced back once, casting Ironhide one last honest look. "I don't know if anyone's told you yet, but Chromia is still out there, Ironhide. She's probably on her way to Earth right now."

Even the mentioning of her designation had his spark clenching painfully tight. Knowing Hound had meant well, and not wanting to snap at him, Ironhide managed a dark smile and a single nod to bid the scout away.

* * *

Epps flipped open his phone to check the time, and then sighed. Ironhide hadn't shown up, which would have been nice for the extra company, even if he wouldn't have done any good for the human they were dealing with. Of course, the big guy had bigger things to worry about, not to mention dealing with the SkyWatch issue was exclusively human territory. He had their lasers to fiddle with; that was as close to their case as he was willing to get. Ironhide may have warmed up to Will and Epps and a few others on base, but he remained wary of humans in general. The violent swish of a hospital gown marching by had him looking up as Josie paced by their chairs once more.

"Josie," Will tried again, tracking the woman as she paced like a caged animal up and down the aisle between the rows of beds. She was the least hurt of the four, coming away with only abrasions, bruises, and a few sprains here and there; she was more freaked out over the condition of friends than over her own welfare. "Miss Beller-,"

"That's Major Beller to you," she snapped, in hopes that if she stuffed enough formality between them, they'd keep their ten-foot distance and not try anything funny. They'd been respectful so far, but who knew how long that would last?

Will frowned, scrubbing his face with his palm. He wasn't about to get up and salute her, but if she wanted to address their ranks, then fine by him. "Sorry, _Major_ Beller, if you would just calm down for a moment and listen to us, I'm sure we can have this sorted out-."

Like anyone who had been attacked by robots from hell, knocked unconscious for a few days, and transported to god only knew where, Josie reacted instantly with panicked vigour. "_Are you kidding me?_ What the hell can you possibly tell me to make this okay? My friends and I were attacked by giant robots, we were knocked unconscious, kidnapped, and then I wake up here in this- this _Star Trek_ wannabe hospital with you two looming over me. Look at my friends- look at them!" She swung by Chip's bed and ripped back his sheets to reveal the complex metal brace constructed around his lower half. "_That_ is not okay! Nothing about this is okay!"

Will nodded, trying not stare openly at Chip; Perceptor had done something to him the day before, and the brace was like a metal spider's web around the body in order to keep in place whatever the mech did."I understand this must be very upsetting for you-."

"I am way beyond upset right now!" Her fingers drove through her wild red hair violently. "I am fucking borderline psychosis! Where the hell does your country get off invading mine, huh? You pigs think you can do anything you want just because you have a couple big guns!"

Epps bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to retaliate; the lady was freaking out, bound to say a few things without thinking. Will was still floundering to be heard.

"Can we put away the stereotypes for now? We had permission to be on your soil; your government was fully aware of our presence, and even willing to assist with our extraction efforts. There was no invasion involved." Of the human kind, anyways. "We had no intention of you getting caught in the crossfire. This is all just a very big misunderstanding; we didn't intend to capture you or Mr Chase-."

Josie bristled, pacing the room again. Pointedly, she hissed, "_Captain_ Chase." Might as well stay consistent in the face of Americans; they could probably smell fear, so it was best to give them as little chance for exploitation as possible. "What do you mean this is all just a misunderstanding? How does one misunderstand being attacked and then kidnapped?"

"Like I said, you and Captain Chase were not the intended targets."

Realization dawned quick and hard over the woman. "Oh my god, you were after your own people!" Will and Epps cringed as Josie's voice took on screeching proportions. Any further aggravation and Dr. Spring was going to have to come in and give the poor woman a sedative.

"Yes, we were after the Fairbornes, and now that they are in our custody, you and Captain Chase will be returned to your homes as soon as you are both stable enough to be transported." But not before Perceptor wiped their brains of every bit of damage Barricade and Flamewar managed to inflict on them.

Josie was not hearing any of it. "They're high-ranking individuals in your military, aren't they? And good people on top of that! They'd never do anything to warrant this kind of behaviour!"

"Then maybe you didn't know them as well as you thought you did, Major," Epps said gruffly, frowning. "Barricade and Flamewar might have overstepped their boundaries in their mission, but the Fairbornes got off easy. They sure as hell deserved worse for the hell they've managed to put us through."

Josie looked beyond horrified that anyone would say something like that. She spat at him in retaliation.

Seeing as the situation was only getting more and more out of hand, Will turned around and waved through the glass wall to Dr. Spring on the other side, summoning her in with the needed tranquilizer.

"This is getting us nowhere," he murmured as she passed.

"You should have listened to me- I knew you weren't going to get anything out of her," the doctor admonished good-naturedly, patting him on the shoulder. She had years of experience with S7 interrogations; it was a lucky intuition of hers to know who was most likely to have useful information and who was a waste of time. Turning to the poor, cornered Josie, she put on her best smile. "Now, sweetie, I know this is a lot to take in, but right now you're doing yourself more harm than good. If you would just let me put you back in bed-"

"Don't touch me! Please, don't come any closer!" Josie yelled, backing herself into the whitewashed wall between her bed and Chip's. Sweat accumulated on the soles of her bare feet, causing her to slip along the cold tile floor until she was splayed on her butt in a curled heap. "Just leave me alone!"

Felicity crouched kindly to Josie's level, holding out a strong hand. "Hun, I'm not going to hurt you. The floor is cold, so let's get you back up into bed, shall we? Get you nice and relaxed..." Years of practise and natural talent had Josie right where the good doctor wanted her, left hand placed in her offered right. With trained precision, Felicity guided her patient to her bed, settled her in, and then let the prepared needle hidden up her sleeve slide down, slipping it into the woman's arm before she could object.

Upon feeling the prick of the needle, Josie was instantly rigid. "_What did you do?"_ she hissed, trying to yank her arm away. It was already too late to save herself from injection.

Dr. Spring patted the small needle mark with a cotton ball. "That was just something to take the edge off, my dear. You'll be feeling right as rain in a minute or so." She turned to Will and Epps and made shooing motions with her hands. "Now it's time for you two to clear out. You've caused enough excitement for one day- go have lunch or something."

"Alright, alright, we're gone," Epps said, wandering to the exit with Will on his heels. "This was such a waste of time."

Will sighed, shrugging. "Can't win 'em all. At least we know who _wasn't_ involved in SkyWatch."

"Anyone in Sector Seven could have told you that that woman wasn't involved," Dr Spring admonished, ushering them to the front entrance of the infirmary. "Josie Beller and Chip Chase have never worked in Sector Seven, and neither of their families have any involvement. Other than David Banes, it is unlikely that the Fairbornes would involve civilians so deeply into this matter." Will and Epps were shoved out the doors just as Hound was squeezing in, compacted into his alt mode as he was.

"Hey Will, Epps," the Autobot drawled happily as he passed.

"Hey Hound," Will greeted kindly, giving the Jeep's side a pat. "Haven't seen you around for a while."

"Ah've been around," Hound replied, bobbing on his shocks to convey a shrug.

"That's cool," the captain nodded, parting with a nod. He and Epps left without further ado.

With them gone, Hound bobbed in acknowledgement to Dr. Spring. "Ya wouldn't know if Ratchet was in, would ya?"

Dr Spring gave Hound an appraising look, from the bottom of his wheels to the top of his roof, as if trying to decide if she wanted to admonish him for using the human-sized front doors instead of the Autobot-sized doors around the side. Seeing as it was impressive enough that he managed to fit his alt mode in, she gave a twinkling half-smile. "I think he's in his office, but I wouldn't know for sure. He stays in his half of the building, and I stay in mine."

"Ah see. Thanks anyways, Dr Spring."

"It's no trouble," the human replied warmly, taking a seat behind her desk in order to start in on some neglected work. "If you're going back there to see him, try not to track too much dirt through. Both Ratchet and I try to run clean business here."

"Ah'll try." With every intention of seeing Ratchet for a medical check-up, Hound passed by the glass wall that served as the partition between the receiving area and the recovery room for human patients. His attention was quickly caught by the creatures within; the new humans on base, all of whom he knew peripherally through his contact with- ah... the human he stayed with.

It was in his best interest to keep rolling, not pay them any mind, NOT give into his curiosity. He had Ratchet to see, after all. If everything went well during the scan, maybe he'd come back and take a peek at them, but it was best to keep moving now. If only the one human online in there didn't look so lost and scared...

Driving into the hall beyond Dr Spring's line of sight, Hound activated his holo-matter emitters and focused on the medical bed across from the redheaded human. She jumped when he appeared, though thankfully made no noise to alert Dr Spring to his presence. Her gaze was a little hazy as she stared at him; a quick scan revealed that she was heavily drugged.

"Hi," he prompted lightly, waving.

"Hi," mumbled the female, her mouth clumsy. When she blinked, it took nearly a minute for her eyes to open again. "You're not human, are you?"

Worried that he might have screwed up his holo-matrix somehow, Hound looked himself over, and then remembered that he just materialized right in front of her, which was generally a big giveaway that he wasn't human. "Oh, yeah- this is just a hologram."

"Like _Star Trek_?" she mumbled absently. There was a brief flicker of fear before she spoke, but whatever had been administered to her kept her hazy and dumb.

"Sure. Ah'm actually out in the hall." He laughed embarrassedly, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"That green truck," Josie murmured, recalling the vehicle she'd watched roll by.

"Yeah, that was me." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, finding it kind of funny how soft the mattress was compared to the metal berths he was used to. "Ah thought ya looked like ya could use a little company. Ah wouldn't fit in here normally, so Ah used a hologram."

For some reason, the female human seemed to think that was funny. "You're a robot, right?"

Hound canted his head, not understanding what could be funny about that. He chalked it up to the tranquilizer present in the female's blood. "Ah am, but mah kind prefer ta be called Cybertronian or transformers in your language."

"Oh..." She blinked again, this time opening her eyes much faster, staring dully at him. "You're nicer than the other transformers I met." Or maybe she was just comfortable with him because his hologram looked human, which was better than being with a robot. As far as she was concerned, all robots could go to hell.

Hound ducked his head a little. "Yeah... Barricade and Flamewar aren't known for being nice ta organics. But don't worry- they're back with their group, and no one will hurt ya here."

"Right." She started rubbing her arm at the injection site, breathing slow, looking bedraggled and forlorn.

Hound watched her with utmost curiosity, trying to figure out which human she was. There were only two female names listed, Jaye and Josie, so he had a fifty/fifty chance of being right. Deciding to cheat, he used a visual reference to look her up on the internet, discovering her to be Josie Beller. He hopped off the bed and wandered towards her, hand extended. "Ah'm Hound, by the way."

"That's a funny name," Josie said, shaking his hand regardless. "I'm Josie." As soon as Hound returned to his seat, Josie spoke up once more. "I have a friend who drives a truck that looks like you."

A small thrill tickled his spark, though it was quickly tamped down before it got out of hand. His hologram remained looking calm, with only a neutral look of interest on its face. "Ya mean Chase Banes?"

Minor surprise brightened Josie's gaze, her head flopping slowly in a nod. "You know her?"

Hound hesitated before answering, unsure of what his answer should be. "Ah did know her. It was her Jeep Ah scanned for mah alt mode."

"Huh... you did a good job scanning, I guess."

"Thank ya kindly."

Seemingly unable to focus on anything, Josie's gaze kept wandering around the room, her hands moving clumsily to pick at her sheets. The behaviour worried Hound enough to consult an online database regarding symptoms in tranquilized humans, only to find that Josie was simply reacting to a very high dose of something relatively powerful. She was doing well, considering the strength of the drug she was administered.

"Have you seen Chase lately?" she suddenly asked, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.

"No, sorry. Ah haven't seen her for a few weeks, actually."

"Oh." Josie sagged a little, heaving a huge sigh.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, nothing really," the human mumbled. "She's just got me worried. Haven't heard from her in a long time. Not something you'd be interested in."

Oh, but he _was_ interested. More than he thought he should be for a random human he was no longer in contact with. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Under normal circumstances, _no_; what Josie knew about her friend had been told to her under strict confidence. Considering her body felt like warm molasses and her brain felt like a marshmallow, inhibitions and keeping secrets were not at the top of her list. Besides, the hologram thingy she was talking to was kinda cute, even if he wasn't real. "You can't tell anyone I'm telling you this, kay?"

"Promise." He was eager to hear what had to be said.

"Okay, see..." Josie bit her lip, laying her chin to the top of her knees. She wavered a little, looking like she might tip over, but thankfully caught herself. "Chase is a little special- she's got something wrong with her. Not crazy or dangerous or anything... just a little _sick_."

"Sick?"

"Yeah, sick. It's a mind thing. I served with her overseas, see? That's where I met her. When you're in war, you see things that- that make you wish you were dead." Her eyes closed tightly now, with not intension of opening again soon. "I stayed on base doing administrative work most of the time, but Chase was out there in the middle of it- she _saw_ things."

Hound nodded silently, solemnly. He could relate in the most painful way; war created opportunities for things to happen that had no right to happen in the first place. Soldiers ended up seeing things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Hound knew the harsh reality of it, every Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral did. He tried to look up Chase's military record to see what was listed on her personnel file, only to find that out of the nine Chase Banes in the Canadian military database, none matched the Chase he knew.

"She doesn't have a military record," he prompted quietly in confusion.

"You're looking her up right now, aren't you?" She sounded slightly accusing, murmuring a disapproving, _"robots"_ under her breath as if he wouldn't hear her.

"Yeah, sorry." He twiddled his thumbs like he'd seen a couple other humans do, discovering that it was a little harder to coordinate than it looked.

The female shook her head slowly. "You're looking her up under the wrong name."

"Ah am? Ah thought-?" He was only left in more confusion.

Josie waved a floppy hand. "Chase _is_ kinda her name, but only like a translation of it."

"How so?"

She shrugged. "She's Native, isn't she? Her real name is in her own language..." It took a moment to sort through her mish-mashed brain to remember what it was. "Nattesg'g Muin, I think. Don't ask me how to spell it. It means _chasing bear_."

"That's... a very appropriate name for her," Hound said, unable to resist laughing lightly.

"Isn't it?" Josie murmured, shaking her head. "Even if you read her file, though, it would only tell you what you probably already have guessed. She has something called PTSD."

A single astrosecond worth of rapid-fire research revealed all that Hound needed to know about the disorder. It explained pretty much everything he ever wondered about the funny little human and her quirks. "Ah never imagined..."

"Hey, where are you going?"

Hound didn't even realize he was dissipating until he looked down to find half his holo-matrix already gone. He looked back to the human pleadingly. "Ah sorry about this, Ah really have ta go right now."

"You're going to go see her, aren't you?"

If he went, it was going to break every promise he'd made to his friends about getting on with his life, but if he didn't go, he'd hate himself for not doing it. She was still a reluctant friend of his, after all.

"Yeah, Ah gotta go see her."

A small smile of relief flickered across Josie's tired face. _Finally_, someone was going to go check up on her. "Good." She flopped to the side and immediately passed out cold.

* * *

The drive into Tranquility had been as quick as the speed limits would permit. Before the scout knew it, he was pulling into the familiar driveway and parking next to the identical Jeep Gladiator that had been given in compensation for the one he destroyed. Interestingly enough, it was the exact same shade of green he was, and it had a 'For Sale' sign in its back window.

Nervously, Hound scanned the immediate area, memorizing the composition of the house and shed, their dimensions, how far apart they were, and where in the vicinity of both was the single human life sign he was looking for. Once sure of her location, he activated his hologram on the front doorstep and knocked carefully, not sure if he could expect an answer or not. None came. Spying the mailbox, it was choked with over a week's worth of mail. Trying the door, it was locked, which meant little to Hound's hologram- he adjusted the setting, stepped through the door, and solidified on the other side.

Having never had the chance to be inside a human domicile, the closest being the windows he peeked in while staying with Chase at her cottage, he wasn't quite sure what to expect once inside. The reality of it was rather disheartening- the air conditioning was running at full blast, filling the house with an eerie moaning hum, leaving the temperature at a freezing 10 degrees Celsius/50 degrees Fahrenheit. A film of condensation had formed over every surface, freezing damp air hanging chilled over everything; the curtains were drawn over every window, and windows that didn't have curtains had sheets pulled over them, leaving the entire household cast in dank twilight. Moulding food lay on abandoned plates along the counter, the sink choked with stagnant brown water; the pungent smell of acrid human sweat, vomit, and stale alcohol lingered thickly in the air. The condition of the house left Hound disturbed, a little frightened.

"Hello? Chase, it's me, Hound; are ya here?"

A small noise came from down the hall, so quite that a normal human wouldn't have been able to hear it.

Wary of what he would find, trying not to touch anything as he passed deeper into the house, Hound poked his head into every room he passed. Curiosity niggled in his head to explore more into the rooms, but he had a mission to complete, so curiosity was ignored for once. His scans told him he was coming up on the one room with life signs within, which was encouraged by the wet gagging that suddenly came through the door, followed by someone's stomach contents exiting their body. He put his hand warily to the doorknob, finding it slick and cold with the lingering presence of someone else's chilled sweat.

"Chase, if you're in there, can ya answer me?"

No discernable noise of acknowledgement came other than more gagging.

Spark pulsing an odd tempo against the inside of his sparkcase, Hound forced his hologram to press on, attempting to push the door open. Entry was barred as it hit a dead weight on the floor. A pained groan gurgled through the air- a worrisome noise that halted Hound's progress. Instead of causing anymore damage to whatever was on the other side, he stepped through the door, coming into the cramped, narrow bathroom to find Chase's long body sprawled out on the floor. Her foot was jammed between the bottom of the door and the floor. As he watched, she gave one last heave into the basin of the toilet, already filled with disturbingly bright-yellow stomach acid, and then dropped bonelessly back to the floor, one arm curled around the base of the toilet, the other sluggishly scraping the ground in search of the near-empty bottle of vodka she'd abandoned.

The immediate sense of repulsion that hit Hound made him sick, not of Chase but of his own reaction to her. He was horrified to find that he felt replused by Chase when he knew the alien needed his help. He was there to help, not judge. Before she could get her hands on the vodka, he leaned down and snatched it away, dumping it down the sink before it could do anymore damage. He stashed the bottle at the far end of the vanity, far enough so that even its glassy presence wouldn't be a temptation. His movement over Chase didn't even register, or if it did, she gave no sign of it. He kneeled to her level, finding the stench of sweat, sick, and vodka permeating the air around her like a cloud. The grey t-shirt she wore was stained, soaked through from days of cold sweat, her pants in a similar condition of. When he touched her arm, she was cold to the touch, shaking uncontrollably from both alcohol poisoning and hypothermia.

"Just look at ya," he sighed quietly, dragging her matted hair away from her face. "Ya poor thing." Rivulets of sweat ran down from her temples, droplets scattered over her forehead and nose. Only a thin slit between her eyelids revealed her swollen, blood-shot eyes, glazed and crushed with salt from tears. In all his vorns, he'd never seen anything look so _sad_.

As he slid his arms beneath her body, she groaned, flopping. Something like a sob came from her mouth.

"Shhhh, it's okay. Ah'm here ta help." First he gathered her into a sitting position, holding her up as she moved to crash forward. Her stomach heaved again, but only spittle drooled from her mouth- she had nothing left to puke. She hadn't eaten in days. Once sure the heaving was done, Hound gently took the hem of her ruined shirt and tugged it over her head, tossing it to the corner between the wall and the door. Chase didn't even move to acknowledge the loss of her clothes. Her pants followed suit, as well as her undergarments. Her nakedness didn't bother him, only the violent shaking and the persistent crying-like noise drifting from her.

"_No... noo..." _As her body was lifted, cradled carefully against his chest, she reacted, trying to get free. She had to get away. Her mind was elsewhere, five years in the past, burning hot from the desert sand, choking on the stench of charred flesh and blood as she stared down at... at... _"Nooo..."_

Thankfully, holograms were far stronger than humans, enabling Hound to manoeuvre her body as she fought against the nightmarish flashback that held her. He stepped into the tub and sat down, arranging his friend so that she would be most comfortable, laying her head to his shoulder and curling her legs so that she could lay across him. Once settled, he flipped on the shower, setting it to lukewarm to both bring Chase's body temperature back to normal and clean her of accumulated filth. Their combined mass left little room for movement, which suited Hound fine. He didn't want to move until he knew Chase was going to be alright.

Something about the water brought a semblance of life back into her body. A pink hue started coming back underneath the dark copper of her skin, replacing the deathly white that scared him. Eventually, her shivering stopped, though her breathing stayed shallow. To help bring her mind back from whatever purgatory it was resting in, Hound murmured to her; he let her know how much he missed her, and how he wanted her to be alright. When he wanted to do more, he fell back on Cybertronian behaviour- there was no armour for him to stroke, so he rubbed the flesh of her arms, face, and sides instead.

"Chase, Ah'm so sorry for not coming before now," he murmured quietly. He wished he could be in the house in his actual frame, not just operating through a half-bit hologram. "Ah was being a coward, thinking Ah could just forget about you like you were able ta forget about me... Ah guess Ah'm one of those kinds of mechs that don't forget so easily. When ya come back online, you're probably going ta be really fragged at me, and if ya wanna forget about me again, that's okay. Ah just want ya ta be okay." She was deathly silent, which worried him. All he could do was keep rubbing her arms and sides. "Ya still have Mikaela ta look after, remember? Be okay for her."

They laid for so long the hot water turned cold. Shutting off the shower, Hound fumbled for the miraculously clean towel draped on the rack next to the tub- it was a large, white one stolen from a hotel somewhere. Having never had to hand-dry anything off with towel before, he did his best to figure it out without hurting his human charge. Once he had her wrapped in the folds of the towel, once again folding her long body against his frame, he realized her eyes were open, watching him.

"Are ya back now?" he asked.

A weak shudder passed through Chase's body, only to have Hound's arms tighten in response.

"Yeah, I'm back." The rasp of her voice almost overpowered her words; she sounded weak, breathless. "Sorry you had to see that."

"Ya don't have ta apologize for somethin' like that. Ah'm just glad you're alright- ya had me worried." He leaned down to rub his holographic forehead to Chase's forehead. She smelled better now, after an hour or so of being under running water. "Do ya wanna talk about it?"

A stronger shudder passed through her. "No. Please, no." For as long as she lived, she never wanted to see what it looked like when a friend stepped on a landmine. If she starting talking about, the burn of the desert sand and heat from the blast would scorch her skin again, and she'd feel the gore dripping down the front of her uniform, down her face...

Feeling her body begin to lock up, Hound tightened his hold, drawing his friend as close as he dared. "Shhhh, ya don't have ta say anything if ya don't want to. Ah'll be here either way." He didn't know what else to do other than stay. His kind had coping programs that dealt with the psychological traumas of war. Humans only had each other.

Chase let herself be held, too weak to push away even if she wanted to. "Where's Mikaela?"

"She's been staying at Sam's for the past week and a half," he murmured. "Don't worry, she's okay. Ah think she left before ya had your episode." He'd called her earlier, while he sat with Chase in the tub- Mikaela had sounded normal, upbeat, even.

"I hope so," Chase sighed, sagging. Her dark eyes were clear now, albeit still red. "I don't want her to know."

Hound hummed gently, rubbing Chase's hip and thigh through the towel. "She's your family, ain't she?"

"Yeah, she is, but this is my problem. I don't want her to worry." She wriggled her hand out from the folds of the towel, taking a handful of Hound's holographic shirt. "Promise me you won't say anything to her."

He laid his head against hers again, nodding. "Ah promise."

"Thanks, Hound." To his utter surprise, she stretched her free arm out to hug him. When she didn't move to end the hug, he realized she'd fallen asleep.

Waiting a minute, he leaned to side and called through the door. "You can come in now."

Mikaela pushed into the bathroom, using the collar of her t-shirt to wipe her eyes. Sam was at her shoulder until he realized how naked Mikaela's aunt was, wisely deciding to stay in the hall. A fat tear rolled unchecked down the young woman's face as she kneeled by the ledge, reaching out to pet her aunt's hair. She and Sam had arrived shortly after Hound called them. Bumblebee was idling on the curb next to Hound's own alt mode.

"I can't believe I left her to deal with this on her own," she sniffed, blinking a few more tears from her eyes.

"That's the way she wanted it," Hound said softly. "She loved you too much to let you worry."

That only seemed to make Mikaela want to cry more. "Thanks for coming here, Hound. I don't know what I would have come home to if you hadn't... you know."

"Ah know."

Clearing her throat, scrubbing at her eyes, Mikaela did her best to straighten herself out. "Do you think you can take her to base to have someone look at her? Make sure she's okay?"

"Ah can do that." He moved to stand, bringing Chase with him. "Are ya goin' come with us?"

"No, if I'm there when she wakes up, she'll know that I know. I'll stay here and clean up." As they stepped into the hall, Sam was already in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes. Mikaela ran for something clean for Chase to wear. When nothing of her aunt's could be found, she volunteered a set of her own clothes. They were at the front door when Mikaela leaned up and laid a kiss to Chase's cheek. "Take care of her, okay?"

Hound made sure to offer the fondest, most sincere smile he could. "Ah will."


	28. A few Crack

I'm very, very excited about this chapter, my friends! Why, may you ask? Oh, there are so many pleasant and wonderful things to tell you, but I fear if I say too much here the actual chapter will be ruined, and that would be the most terrible thing of all! So I'll simply say that this is the chapter in which a turning point in _As We Come Together_ comes to pass. From here on out, we're travelling to the finish line. I don't know yet how far that ending finale will be, but rest assured that with the ending of this chapter, a few new directions shall be opened up, and a few readers may be left astounded to the point of speechlessness. Those of you who have had your guesses in the past of a few puzzle pieces of _WE_, perhaps some answers lie within. I can't say for sure, but one can always hope, yes?

Thank you so much to the reviewers of the last chapter**: ****Shadowhawk7100, Bluebird Soaring, C, Elita One, Silveriss, Black dragon, Litahatchee, Flameshield, Reginastar, Jason M. Lee, Violetlight **and**Bunnylass! **You're all too kind!** ^_^**

I do hope with all sincerity and imploring that if you like the chapter, please leave a review. Even a tiny blurb would do me a kindness. Anything would be much appreciated in order to continue with this storyline.

**As We Come Together  
In Which a few Crack **

"_Chromia?" _

She wasn't letting him go this time. She'd let him go once at Iacon, holding to the promise that he was going to come back, but he never did. He never came back. She had to go and get his sorry aft. Now that they were together again, there was no way in the pit that she was letting him stray again. She would shoot the legs right off him just to make sure she had his spark within reach. He was a fragger if he thought she would let him walk away without giving her that long overdue overload he owed her from so long ago.

Thick black hands rounded her shoulders, crushing the metal, holding her tight. The desire pouring from her sparkmate's spark was so overwhelming it was making her dizzy. Primus, he wanted her almost as badly she needed him. Passion boiled the energon in her lines as she grinded her frame to his, delving into all those secret crevices she had long since memorized on her mate. The power she held over him as he twisted and writhed was intoxicating. It made her want him more, like some dark, forbidden treasure.

"_Chromia?"_

An eternity of running out of hope, and here he was, looming large and real in front of her. The burn of his spark left her trembling and hungry for more.

"Ironhide, don't make me wait any longer than I already have. I **need** this."

The feeling of his spark pulsing above hers was pure rapture. He made her ache inside of things both good and bad- she called for both pain and pleasure, to be mauled and ravished and worshipped. Her whole frame felt as if it were vibrating, clawing to be released. Cooling fans whined, vents groaned with heated air. Her spark was pounding such a powerful tempo within her sparkcase that she heard the beat in her audios. It was the deepest, most primal power that could ever be shared between two beings. If she arched her frame a little more, drew her arms a little tighter around him, they'd be together. Only a little closer.

"Ironhide-."

"_**Chromia?"**_

The screech, definitely several octaves above what Ironhide's vocal processor was capable of, broke through the thick haze of passion like a douse of ice. Chromia was suddenly aware of a tiny foot catching her in the abdomen and flinging her off the berth. The floor was little comfort to her as it flew up to catch her, cold and unforgiving. Ironhide's looming dark presence was shattered, his spark thrown back to the ether it rested in, far from her. The tiny appendage that had attacked quickly drew back to its owner, inspiring a quick wash of outrage in Chromia before she could make sense of where she was.

"What the frag-?"

Arcee's head appeared over the side of the berth, her optics wild. _"What is wrong with you?"_

"Where's Ironhide!" Chromia immediately demanded, optics flashing.

Lost in the moment, Arcee could not hear through her keeper's snarling. "Who-?"

"_Ironhide!_ Where is he!"

"Have you lost your processor? He's on Earth! You already know that!" With a hiss from her protesting frame, Arcee sat up and swung her legs over the side of the berth, making sure to keep a set distance between her and her keeper. "You tried to sparkbond with me, you psycho!"

"What the pit? I'd never-!" Mid-denial, Chromia felt a cold draft strike her insides, her blazingly hot frame hissing in protest to the icy draft. Shocked to find her chassis open, and a little horrified to find her sparkcase open as well, she quickly tried to jerk the plating closed. A whine from the mechanism announced her frame wasn't going to listen to her. _"Frag."_ Growling, she manually shoved the panels together. The resulting mash of metal was cringe worthy. Her frame locked up in retaliation to her mistreatment; the tension was so painful that she felt as if she would snap in half. Her spark was on _fire._

Arcee was quick to catch on to the momentary lapse of pain across the older femme's faceplate. Her own expression dulled from wild fury to concern. "Your spark's bothering you, isn't it?"

"A little bit," Chromia moderated through clenched mouthplates.

"You want me to call Prowl?"

"No, don't bother him," she hissed, giving a dismissive swat of her hand. At least she was still capable of engaging her recharge subroutines and not popping a vial of energizer every other orn to keep stabilized. She didn't need someone like him coming to her rescue. "I'm fine."

"You haven't been _fine_ for a long time," Arcee countered, shaking her head.

"That's rich coming from you," Chromia replied ruefully, shoving herself to her feet. Despite searing pain screaming from her sparkcase, she stretched in an imitation of normalcy, listening as displaced armour cracked back into place. No point in riling Arcee when it would do the younger femme no good.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No- I'm fine." There was another muted pop as the armour of her abdomen popped back out. "Did you have to kick me so hard?"

A rude snort drifted from the younger femme. "If you hadn't been trying to _sparkbond_ with me, I wouldn't have kicked you at all."

A hoarse laugh drifted through the dark of their shared quarters. "Nothing would have happened, you know that." Chromia's arms wrapped around her chest nonetheless, making sure her spark stayed safely within her chassis. "The most that would have happened was we each got a little bit of a shock." Of course, by little shock, she meant an energy discharge that would have been powerful enough to throw them to different sides of the room. The result would not have been pretty for Arcee, but why worry her with that little detail? Again, she had enough to deal with, so why make it worse?

"A little shock? That's complete slag." By Arcee's harsh snort, Chromia had failed to sooth her charge. In fact, the younger femme sounded a tad more agitated. "I could have infected you!"

"No, you wouldn't have," Chromia assured.

"You don't know that. There's always a chance, and if anything were to happen to you-." Dangerous blue claws came up to frame her faceplate, capable to shearing the armour from an unwitting Decepticon but gentle enough to bring some peace.

"I was going for your spark, not your interface panel." Those deadly claws moved to offer more comfort, stroking Arcee's head, and then moving to caress her back. Her hands were remarkably steady for someone in her condition. When the smaller femme attempted to duck away, Chromia was quick to catch her and lock her into place. "I'm not afraid of you or the virus you're carrying, dearspark. I've never been afraid, and nothing is going to happen to me. You worry too much."

Arcee sighed, scrubbing her faceplate with a weak grey hand. "I know, I know... When I onlined and saw you coming at me, I freaked." She wasn't used to anyone touching her any more. Chromia was the only one brave enough to do it without flinching away first.

"If it's any consolation, I thought you were Ironhide," Chromia confided, smirking.

"No need to insult me," Arcee replied, the barest hint of humour playing in her voice. She received a flick in the head as a reward for her cheekiness.

"I was recharging, I didn't know what I was doing." She bumped her head against her charge's.

The admission alarmed Arcee more than calmed. Her frame went rigid, optics jerking away to examine Chromia's.

"You were still recharging?" she exclaimed disbelievingly, suddenly flailing to get out from under Chromia's touch. "No- no, don't touch me! Stop, get away! You were _dreaming_, weren't you? You were _dreaming_!" A cold flood of horror hit her hard; maybe she really had infected Chromia somehow, and now whatever controlled her frame while she recharged was reaching starting to reach out to Chromia. "Primus, I told you I could infect you! Something was controlling you, wasn't it?" She tried to leap away, but found she was too weak to support her weight, crumpling to the floor in a sad grey heap.

"Arcee, are you on the fritz? You're going to hurt yourself!" Sliding to the floor in an attempt to help the femme up, Chromia had to smack away the hands that flew up to keep her at bay.

"Don't touch me! I told you you'd get infected if you stayed around me!"

"Nothing was controlling me, Arcee. I'm not infected, I swear." Blue hands grasped flailing grey arms tightly and pinned them with ease. "I saw Ironhide. _That's_ what I was dreaming of. Oh- Arcee, would you listen to me! Stop wriggling before you hurt yourself!" Immediately, the femme froze, glaring mulishly. "That's better. I was dreaming of Ironhide, Arcee, that's all- I felt him, in _here_." She placed a hand determinedly over her spark. "It wasn't like your dreams. Nothing like yours."

Their optics met, and Arcee remained unmoving for several astroseconds as she tried to gauge if Chromia was lying or not. Perhaps it was the intensity of the older femme's gaze, the near-desperate way her dusky-blue hands clenched around the armourless sections of Arcee's upper arms, or the acute tension that gripped the femme and left her whole frame trembling, that convinced Arcee of the truth.

"I believe you," she sighed, sagging.

"Good, stop fighting me for an astrosecond while I get you back into the berth." As easily as if she were made of air, Chromia hefted the smaller femme to the berth and arranged her for comfort.

As weak as her frame was now, Arcee's mind still as sharp as ever, her optics still that of a sniper. She saw easily through the darkness and the false mask of neutrality her keeper wore. Chromia was in pain, more so now than she had ever seen before.

"Comfortable?" Chromia prompted.

"Yeah, I'm good." She looked away, to the painted walls, and then back again, frowning lightly. "Are you okay?"

"You didn't kick me _that_ hard," Chromia assured, smiling blandly.

"I wasn't asking about that. You know what I meant. Are you okay in your spark... your sparkbond with Ironhide? Something could be seriously wrong if you're dreaming... you could be breaking down or something. It might be something serious."

Chromia placed a stiff finger to Arcee's mouthplates, pressing until the femme was silenced. "You have more things to worry about than some old femme and her problems. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about with me and Ironhide." And if she was really deluded, she'd believe her own words, but since neither femmes were idiots, they simply let the words lay as they were. "On our current course, we're getting close to the Beta Zen sector where that shortcut to Earth is. If we finish with this Mastermind business soon, we could be on our way to Earth in a few orns. You know more than anybody how much I want to see Ironhide, and maybe being so close to the wormhole, to Earth, is making it that much worse. Maybe I want to see him so badly I'm making myself see him in recharge." Except, it had felt so _real_. She felt his frame scraping hers, burned under the heat of his passion, and revelled in the depths of his powerful spark. Had they been allowed to touch sparks, she was sure she would have fallen into his being and wrapped herself in his presence.

Arcee looked away, sighing. "I'm so sorry, Chromia." She couldn't decide what she was apologizing for, there were so many things to choose from.

"Don't be, I'm surviving. I have you to take care of, and that keeps me going. As soon as we're done following this lead, we'll be on course for Earth, where we'll get to see Ironhide, Bumblebee, Optimus, all of them. Until then, we just have to hang on, right?" A weak smile and a gentle touch to the side of her faceplate completed the pseudo-I'm alright, don't worry about me look.

"Right, hang on." Arcee rolled her optics, frowning when Chromia did not crawl back onto the berth with her. Instead, Chromia headed for the door. "Aren't you going to go back to recharge?"

Halting before wandering into the hall, Chromia tossed a lying smile over her shoulder, contrasting the crushing vice grip she held on the doorway. "Not right now. I'm going to work off a little steam first- I'll be right back though. Call me if you need me."

She left before Arcee could reply, taking a hard turn down the corridor towards one particular room. The door was locked, so she hacked the encryption code, snorting as the painted door opened and revealed in the half-life the glint of gold she'd been looking for. Sideswipe was on duty with Prowl, so Sunstreaker was alone, which worked in her favour for what she wanted to do.

Striding full force into the room, she leapt upon the berth to stand over the mech, glaring down at his deceptively peaceful form. "Get. Up."

A single optic suddenly cracked open, followed by the other. Both were as cold as ice. He squinted up at her, pulling a distasteful look. "Go away."

"Get up, I need you for something." She gave him a sharp tap with her foot for good measure.

Sunstreaker was hardly intimidated. His smirk was sardonic. "No offense, but old models like you just don't put me in the mood."

"I'm not looking to interface, you glitch. Spar with me."

"Now? Pit no." He attempted to turn over, only to freeze when he heard the definitive click of claws against the wall, razor-sharp weapons biting into the murals he'd worked so hard to create. Chromia's faceplate was stony as she glared down at him.

"Care to reconsider?"

"You wouldn't dare."

She flexed her hand against the faded paint, scraping a tiny fleck from the mural. "Oh, I dare."

A flash of red crossed Sunstreaker's gaze, his arm lashing out so fast Chromia failed to raise her defence in time. She was thrown to the floor and up again in an astrosecond, immediately assuming a defensive stance as her opponent's serpentine frame slipped from the berth, preparing to give her what she wanted.

* * *

Duty with Prowl sucked slag.

It sucked slag _bad_.

Generally, it was Sideswipe's own fault that duty with Prowl sucked slag. He had a miraculous ability to lighten the mood after Prowl managed to throw it into a vacuum of logical, work-bound despair. Sadly, Sideswipe's definition of 'lightening the mood' meant causing some raucous chaos that everyone else except Prowl would enjoy. It was a well known fact that Sideswipe was like a heat-seeking missile when it came to tormenting the slag out of his favourite tactician. But it was only fun when there was someone else around to laugh with him. When it was just one-on-one time, being with Prowl was a lot less fun. It was downright miserable.

As a pre-emptive strike against the fritz-worthy 'fun' Sideswipe often heralded, the tactician had done the most logical thing to deal with the mischief-seeking twin: he'd tied Sideswipe to his chair.

"You know, I could get a lot more work done if you just untied me," he called loudly over his shoulder.

"The risk of more mischief outweighs the benefit of having work done," came the cold reply.

"Come on! I haven't done anything yet!"

The underlying tension in the silence before Prowl's reply was the stuff that nightmares were made of. "The only reason you haven't done anything yet is because I've stopped you before you could. Because of your insistent foolishness, I am no longer going to give you the opportunity for such freedoms. Even attempting pranks is a waste of time when we have a mission to fulfill."

"But this is my ship! You can't do this to me on my own ship!"

"I can and I will." The risk of Sideswipe sneaking into his quarters again and uncovering the energizer was too great. The first time he'd done it, the red mech had been ignorant to the exact nature of the vials he'd uncovered. If a next time was allowed to happen, Prowl and his mental stability might not be so lucky.

Sideswipe sighed, wriggling against the bonds that held him fast. "How about you loosen them so I can move my legs a little?"

"I gave you leave with the use of your arms. Be grateful." It had been tempting to secure his arms too, but then logic intervened and said that if his arms were tied too nothing would get done. As a compromise, Sideswipe had been secured from the torso down so that he was unable to move, unable to untie himself, and completely left to Prowl's mercy.

"Fine. Whatever." After a moment of sulking, he returned to his work, which hadn't been that taxing in the first place. With old ships like his, the engines and other internal functions constantly had to be watched in case a hiccup appeared. In most cases, it wasn't that big a deal to find the gravity knocked out in a section of the ship, or an airlock had popped- those were easy to fix. But with the crew of the _Loki_ treading on thin ice as it was, one little upset could easily set them off, the consequences of which would probably be deadly on the whole crew. Even if Sideswipe was the most stable, and most knowledgeable of the quirks of the _Loki_, if something were to disrupt the fragile balance, he would not be able to handle the situation on his own. Thus, he was stuck on monitor duty.

Once sure that Sideswipe was going to stay on task, Prowl shifted back to his own monitor, his long, quick fingers clattering along the dusty controls as he tracked the elusive signal of Autobot Nightbeat. The sensor arrays on the _Loki_ were not the best quality, nor in the best condition, so the Autobot's signal often faded in an out of range. The frequency of the transmitter was unusual, like a highly advanced Decepticon frequency thrice encrypted. Punch had been the one to inform them of the new frequency, who had apparently gotten the information from Dealer; the origin of the transmitter had yet to be revealed.

"Do you think there is enough power to boost our speed?" Prowl asked after calculating the exact amount of speed they would need in order to have the greatest tactical distance set between the _Loki_ and the unnamed drone ship carrying Nightbeat to Mastermind.

"Are you kidding me? We're maxed out as it is."

A dark scowl crossed the tactician's faceplate, which Sideswipe felt palpably down the back of his armour. "If we fall behind any more, we're going to lose Nightbeat. That is the last thing we can afford at a crucial time like this."

A long obnoxious squeal from the chair Sideswipe was bound to announced his attempt to turn around. When that failed, he craned his neck to see behind him. What he saw was not encouraging; a storm grey mech of medium height, lithe build, and handsome features, once straight-backed and proud, now hunched together tightly as if he were trying to keep himself from falling apart. His optics had long since lost their normal intelligent sharpness, fading to a blank whiteness. He trembled every so often, sometimes violent enough to hear the rattle of armour across the room. He wasn't the Prowl Sideswipe loved to torment anymore.

"If you give me a breem, I might be able to bypass a few things and give us a little jumpstart," the red mech offered carefully.

"Good, that might be just what we need."

"If you untie me, I might be able to get the job done faster."

A loud bang suddenly rattled from the depths of the ship, vibrating the bridge. Sideswipe was instantly rigid, sensing the feral change that suddenly overcame his brother. Something had riled him.

"I'll throw in checking on Sunstreaker for free," he offered quickly. "There's no telling what kind of crazy antics he could get up to-," a screech bellowed through the ventilation system. Definitely not Sunny's voice. "Especially when Chromia's involved."

As if the decision were painful to make, Prowl eased up from his seat with a growl, making his way to the front of the bridge. "You see to your duties and nothing more. If you even cause a speck of mischief while you're free, I'll put you in stasis lock until we reach Earth." The threat was as real as the blade now coldly kissing the energon bonds at Sideswipe's waist.

Too unnerved to dare say anything, Sideswipe merely nodded in silence. The energon bonds were cut away, allowing him to bound up and stretch. Partly from need to escape from Prowl's presence, and partly because he was seriously starting to feel some death-lust leak through from his brother, he ran for the exit and was gone.

Watching Sideswipe's exit with a cold dispassion, Prowl did nothing more than shake his head. He wasn't a half-bit, he knew his condition was deteriorating fast. It was coming to the point where even the energizer was not helping him as it should. By his own chronometer, it had been exactly ten orns, thirteen joors, seven breems, and twenty astroseconds since the last time he'd been able to freely engage his recharge subroutines. The energizer wasn't letting him engage the subroutine anymore, but if he stopped taking it-

_Emotional override! Emotional override! Emotional override!_

He was passed the point of no return when it came to avoiding turning his emotional center back on. If he stopped with the energizer, he'd lose his mental edge and his emotions would be reinstated with an incalculable backlash waiting to incapacitate him. But if he didn't wean himself from the vile substance soon, as his logic center was clearly dictating as the best course of action, the build up of nanobots in his system was going to cause irreparable damage. Not to mention the degradation to his mental capacities he was currently undergoing from his own self-imposed stupidity.

He didn't even realize he was moving until his hand withdrew from subspace, a small vial of topaz fluid clutched in his curled fingers. So tempting. Tempting the way that only beautiful poison can be. Supplies were running low, and his disgust for the substance was becoming almost as overpowering as his need for it. He stashed it from sight before he could be hooked by its siren's song.

Shaking himself from the reverie, he checked his monitor, only to discover that the drone ship ahead of them had crossed into a new region of space. Double checking their coordinates with his star charts, it was confirmed that Nightbeat's ship, as well as the Loki, were heading into the spark of the Beta Zen region. An odd coincidence when one was to consider that Beta Zen was the lair of the infamous shortcut to Earth.

A roar through the ventilation shafts broke Prowl's concentration. He opened a com to Sideswipe. "I thought you said you were checking on your brother."

"_I am!" _The mech sounded a little strained, as if he were caught in the middle of something too big for one mech to handle. _"Sunny and Chromia just got into a little scrape, that's all."_

A scrape between them was what most bots called a no holds barred death-match, something that could very well destroy a good portion of the ship. "Do you need any assistance breaking them up?"

"_No, they're fine going at it. There's plenty of room in the cargo bay for them to work it out." _

"Why do you sound so strained?"

There was a bang, then a crash, and then Sideswipe cursed as he shoved someone away. _"I'm trying to get my high-grade out of the way before they detonate it." _

"High-grade?"

"_Yeah." _

"Contraband high-grade?"

"_Possibly." _

"Sideswipe?"

"_Uh-huh?" _

"Get to the bridge. _Now._"

A pained sigh rolled through the comms. _"Fine, but it's your fault if the aft of my ship gets blown off." _

"Just get up here, there's been a development that you might wish to see. If it is at all possible, break up the match between those two and bring them with you. I have a feeling there is something important in this sector of space." As he spoke, he worked to bring up a visual on the main view screen, magnifying it to the highest degree in order to catch the speck of the drone ship gliding ahead of them.

Sideswipe caught on to the new inflection in his commander's voice. It was something new, or at least something he hadn't heard in a long time- interest, intrigue. It sounded so much like the old Prowl that it gave Sideswipe a brief start. _"What are you talking about? Where are we now, Prowl?"_

"Just get to the bridge." He cut the comms, immediately moving to tap furiously at the antiquated controls to bring up star chart after star chart, and then tried to focus the _Loki_'s sensors on Nightbeat's signal. Marking the drone ship's flight path, it was not a random drift through the region to get to the other side. There was a definitive pattern to its movements that dictated a target; it was flying towards something. If he were to think about the situation logically, the chances of a serial kidnapper's heist ship coinciding with a wormhole anomaly within such close proximity to each other were astronomical. There had to be some kind of meaning behind it, or a connection of some sort. With that train of thought, Prowl's weary battle computer kicked in and started running a thousand different possibilities in order to logically decide what was the most tactically sound explanation for such an occurrence, and what would be the most wise course of action in accordance with all set possibilities.

Nightbeat's signature suddenly wavered once more. It weakened to a faint blip.

"No, adjust harmonics, narrow tracking band, triangulate frequency..." he followed through on what he muttered, working at lightning speeds to correct for the sudden distortions rocking space. A long, hollow moan shivered from the bowels of the ship as it swayed on the cosmic turbulence. One set of data readouts informed Prowl the waves were coming from the solar flares suddenly arching off the red giant star in the centre of the region, only to be contradicted by another readout screaming that a huge power source was disrupting all of space to the far opposite of the star. The crosshairs of the two storms were tossing the _Loki_ as if it were a piece of scrap metal on the breeze.

"_Prowl, what's going on? Stabilize the ship before Arcee's hurt!" _Chromia's demand was nearly drown out by the deep groan of the _Loki_ doing a barrel roll, swinging aimlessly into a forgotten mess of space debris.

"I am trying! I believe we are encountering some form of cosmic storm!" Prowl roared.

Right before his disbelieving optics, two whirlpools of power erupted. He knew to his core, beyond his battle computer, beyond the logic he was clinging to, the fiery flares of the red giant gathered and roared, spinning themselves into a tapestry of flame in the middle of space. Without rhyme or reason, that single pinpoint of power collapsed. What suddenly appeared on sensors was a wormhole, its event horizon blazing a summons to the _Loki_. In contrast to the breath-taking phenomenon of nature, space itself undulated, a coldness seeping into reality from some far-flung unnatural place. As if a curtain had been pulled back, a great blackness appeared, swallowing all light. By the sight of it alone, it sucked the warmth from Prowl's very spark.

_Emotional override! Emotional override! Emotional override! _

Before he could even truly comprehend what he was seeing, the small ship Nightbeat was captive on made a beeline for the gaping blackness. Illogical, irrepressible terror welled from the primal depths of Prowl's spark as he realized what he was witnessing. He was watching his comrade fly to his death. The moment Nightbeat was beyond the blackness, it would be the last time anyone was ever going to see him alive. Wherever he was going, whatever was beyond that frigid darkness, it screamed of malevolence to Prowl's core. There was nothing logical about the horror that seized him. His frame was seized by the unspeakable power that held sway over him, forcing him to watch the last moments of a fellow Autobot. The drone ship glided in, and then it was gone.

The blackness, the ripples in space, the immense power readings pulsing through space: all gone.

_Emotional override engaged! Emotional override engaged! Emo-!_

It took an astrosecond for Prowl to realize the overwhelmingly sickening feeling he was experiencing was illogical, primal, straight-from-his-spark _fear_. It took another whole astrosecond to realize he was feeling anything at all. By then, it was too late- he was overwhelmed by the sudden backlash. It threw him to the ground. His tanks emptied their contents across the floor.

_No! Not now! Not now! I need a little more time! _

Through optics that blacked in and out, he saw feet rushing for him- red, yellow, blue. Someone's sharp hands flipped him over, trying to stabilize the convulsions. Sunstreaker's revolted faceplate came into focus for an astrosecond while Chromia rooted through subspace to secure a hated vial of energizer.

"Tip his mouthplates open!" she screamed, automatically complied by Sideswipe, who wrenched open Prowl's mouthplates with little mercy. A fire entered him like the burn of the pits slipping down into his emptied tanks. His frame was suddenly pinned by golden arms and legs as his own stormy frame flailed to eject the poison.

"Was that energizer?" Sunstreaker roared as he wrestled Prowl down.

"None of your business! Just hold him down!" the femme snarled, floundering for her own footing as the _Loki _was thrown to the side. "Sideswipe, what the pit is happening out there?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out!" he howled, clattering across the controls to try and reinitialize something in his sensor array. It seemed the last attack, or whatever it had been, had knocked everything out. A desperate fist lashed out, striking the console, only to have it squawk at him and light up. Data started streaming in faster than he could read it. "We're caught in some sort of gravity well! Primus- I think we're being drawn into a wormhole! _Brace yourselves!"_

* * *

Nightbeat fluttered back to consciousness in the same way an ice cube melted; slowly, with the sense of reality oozing away the more he onlined. His chronometer wasn't working, neither were his proximal sensors. In fact, he came to the quick realization that none of his sensors were working. Everything was black, which he assumed to be because his optics were not working either, but a quick diagnostic scan reveal they were operating just fine, it was just really, really dark. And as soon as he came to that one conclusion, he realized another- he was _cold_. Not the kind of cold that came from the environment, but a cold that came from the depths of elsewhere. If the colour black had a feeling, that was what he was experiencing.

Though it was completely needless in the dark, he shuttered his optics, only to find his senses assaulted by flame when he did so. Opening his optics quickly, the flame disappeared, only to reappear in a heatless blaze as he gazed about sightlessly behind shuttered optics. That wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to see things when his optics were closed. He wasn't supposed to see things that weren't really there. Of course, he also heard voices that no one else heard, so who was to say what could be seen or not seen? He blinked a few more times, testing the darkness to see if he could trick it and see the flame with his optics open, or to test if he had finally gone crazy. When he failed to see the fire with his optics open, he concluded that he was crazy. That didn't really bother him though- he'd always had the sneaking suspicion he was a little crazy.

Feeling along the frigid floor, he backed himself into a wall. Instinctually, he assumed a protective curl, hoping to ward off the great watching presence that loomed around him. Whatever kind of vessel he was on did not feel like a vessel at all; the ship felt alive. The darkness was alive.

This was the lair of the Mastermind.

Nightbeat couldn't help but think he may have gotten himself into something more than he could handle. Even with some unseen monster hanging as an omnipresent miasma in the air, he had never felt so alone in his life. Even the voices in his head were silent. As a matter of fact, everything was silent. Not a sound echoed anywhere- no humming of energy, no growl of engines, no rattling of loose bolts against bulkheads, no murmur of a crew hard at work. There was the distinct haunting sense that there should have been the sound of someone screaming, but only heavy silence lingered.

Nervously, he lifted a single hand to the crevice in his armour where the transmitter Dealer gave him should have been. It was gone.

"Frag."

Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised by something like that. A bot like the Mastermind wasn't likely to let someone onto his... whatever this place was, with something like a transmitter attached to them. He was way too smart for something like that. One did not make a career out of kidnapping Cybertronians and leaving not a trace without knowing a thing or two. Whoever the Mastermind was, he was smart, and more dangerous than Nightbeat had given him credit for.

Having never been a mech who cared much for the logic in things, he shuttered his optics once more in hopes that he could see through the flames in order to gauge what kind of pit he was in. What he managed to see was not encouraging- three walls of polished, spotless black metal and a fourth wall presumably made of a force field of some sort. A square box. A prison cell. He kept his optics closed too long, finding that his processor began to burn if he stared into the flame too long. Beyond the fact that it was flame that existed in an elsewhere, it was unnatural in so many ways. He daren't think about the figure he could almost see staring back at him- a figure that appeared to be made of shadow despite the flame, Cybertronian in primal design and yet so very alien in everything else. It was on fire.

Prying his optics open, he felt along the floor blindly, never straying from the safety of the wall he'd backed into. Under his hands, he encountered frame parts- a hand, a helmet, a leg. When he moved, he scrapped aside eons worth of castoff frame parts turned to rubbish.

Where in the pit was he? What kind of place was this?

_Someone's coming_

The sudden reappearance of the whispers made him jump. He nearly cried in gratitude to know he wasn't so alone anymore.

_Someone's coming!_

Now he heard it, the unmistakable clicking pattern of metal feet against a metal floor. The footsteps were precise, timed. A drone's pattern of walking. Nightbeat listened harder, listening as the soft screech of a frame being dragged underscored the patterns of drones marching. A door at the far end of the room shushed open, ushering in what sounded like two drones with a frame slung between them, the feet dragging. A barely audible groan drifted to Nightbeat's audios, making his spark race. Somewhere deep in his mind, he recognized that voice, as quiet as it was.

_She's coming!_

Who?

Two blazing yellow optics appeared floating in the darkness, too far apart to belong to the same mech. One drone leaned over to key the control pad, dropping the force field to Nightbeat's cell. The second drone tossed whatever poor spark it had to the floor near Nightbeat's feet. He felt the lifeless frame slide along the smooth, cold metal and hit the tip of his left foot. Whatever the thing was, it was cold, and too light to be in possession of any armour. It was probably naked of all but wires and bolts.

A tiny flash penetrated the darkness, announcing the force field being raised again. As expected, the drones left without a word.

_She's here!_

Two optics slowly opened, staring aimlessly upwards. They were a dull white-blue colour, so dim that they offered no illumination to the faceplate they belonged to. After the longest while, the floating optics moved, jerking up, tipping to the side. Whoever it was sat up. A creaking, rattling frame could be heard moving, and Nightbeat could feel the displacement of air wafting against his armour. Without his spark resonance scanners, there was no way to identify the bot. Unless...

_She's here!_

Who's she?

He already knew how to find out. Taking a deep drag of frozen air through his intakes, cycling the ice out his vents, Nightbeat shuttered his optics once more. Amid the pit-borne blaze, a faceplate stared back. She was battered and broken, her armour stripped, barely alive. The frame was unrecognizable. Her optics though... there was something about the way she stared back at him through the fire as if she could see him, the lingering regal glint to her gaze that spoke of who she was. Eons of torture had not stripped her of who she was.

Nightbeat's optics snapped open upon grasping the realization. He found himself shaking from some unnamed emotion.

"Elita One?"


	29. Introspection is Undesired

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, but it was also as hard a hell trying to get the wording and tone right. I sat for _hours _in front of the screen trying to make it as perfect as possible for the desired effect. Hopefully you all enjoy and leave a review with your thoughts. Your input really helps the development of the story.

On a special side note, there are accompanying WE side-fics that are available to help deepen your understanding of the chapter. One would be _Surface of the Sun_, and the other would be _Even Angels Fall_. Both reveal facets of WE 'lore' that some may find useful, perhaps even enable a few to connect a dot or two. Extra reading is not required, of course- all will be revealed in due time- but sometimes it's fun to delve a little bit off the beaten path.

On a secondary special note, anyone who wishes to have their mind blown should check out **FunkyFish**'s rendition of gladiatorial Sunstreaker, based off of a crappy human design I did. It is sex-worthy, I swear. Just seeing it, you know Sunny wants to rip your guts out, and he's so good looking that you'd enjoy it. Anyone who is interested, the link is in my bio.^^

**Elita One**- Yeah, it was hard to write, but it was a long time coming for poor Prowl.

**Goldendreams257**- You have no idea how much your review made my day. I am beyond flattered that you would think my fanfiction was better than the actual TF novelization. Thank you so much~ You're truly too kind. I was inspired to go out and buy the prequel for myself, and sufficed to say, it was interesting, and served as a good set up for the movie.

**BadDogg**- Yep, Elita is finally in the picture. It only took me 28 chapters to do so. ^^; I'm glad you like where I'm going with this story- it's only going to get more interesting from here on out. Sadly, Starscream isn't slated to return significantly until closer to the end, though his role does increase later on.

**CuteKitten**- You nailed it exactly, my dear! How very, very perceptive of you! Chromia's and Ironhide's sparks really were reacting to each other due to proximity. I'm glad you caught on to that detail.^^ And thanks for pointing out a few of those glitches- likes to chew up files sometimes. And if you've forgotten who Nightbeat was, he's the Special Ops agent featured a few chapters back who could hear voices. There is a one-shot entitled '_Invisible Puzzle Pieces'_ that further explains his character.^^

**Flameshield**- Yeah, Chromia and Ironhide did experience the same 'dream', poor dears. And poor Arcee for being stuck experiencing it second-hand. ^^; Prowl may have lost to his systems this time, but he'd still fighting. It's only a matter of time until Ratchet sees what's become of him... As for Elita and how she came to be in the Mastermind's lair, all will be revealed in due time.

**Balrog Roike**- I'm glad I could surprise you with that ending. That's what I was going for. Your questions are interesting, but a tad off base. Close, but not on the money. I can say that you're right about one thing, it is too organized to be just for fun. The rest will be revealed as the story unfolds. As for Nightbeat, perhaps he is psychic. Who knows? I don't think he would consider himself as such. He merely hears things that others can't, which doesn't necessarily mean they aren't there. I don't know if the solar flare thing had been used elsewhere; I designed it for my fic from imagination without consultation.

**Bluebird Soaring**- I had a feeling you would enjoy the first part of the chapter, and to some extent the second part. You do love your Hide/Mia and Prowl/Jazz fixes, don't you, even if it was only Prowl in this chapter. Who knows what will become of Prowl once his emotional subs catch up, but there is plenty of opportunity for a writer such as myself to torture him in the meantime...

**Black Dragon**- ...Funny? I know I put some humour in there somewhere, but I'm failing to see the overall humour of the chapter...

**reginastar**- I'm glad I could induce a truly shock cliffhanger- that was my one ultimate goal for the chapter! I've been saving the Elita reveal for eons, even before the story had begun! And you're so perceptive of the story, aren't you? Caught on to the hint with the flame very well~ Hopefully you continue to enjoy what I have in store for this story.^^

**theshadowcat- **Ah, my dear, you'll find i can be a very cruel writer when I went to be. *evil grin*

**Lady_Tecuma**- Oh noes! Don't harm the Hound plushie! Here's the next chapter!!

**Violetlight- **I thought "A Few Crack" was a pretty appropriate title, if I do say so myself.^^

**Litahatchee- ***TWITCH! FLAIL! SQUEE!* 400TH REVIEWER FOR THE WIN!!!!!! Mega-awesome fangirl squealing! Hells yeah! It's such a relief to finally have that big reveal off my chest and into the writing. You and I both know it's been a long time coming- has it really been over a year? Time flies!- and judging by the response its garnered, it played out exactly as planned! It must have been pure torture to know what was going on the entire time reading this fic and not be able to say a thing about it. Hopefully this has relieved some of the pressure, even if more shockers are bound to come. ;P

**Chloo**- Hahahahahahaha~ It's intresting that you feel that way about fanfiction. I totally agree with you- it can't be sacrificed, even for the greatest of literature. Prowl and Sideswipe's exchange was pure fun, even if old Prowler was buggin' out on the energizer. Now that his nasty little secret is out, things certainly will be interesting for him... As for Chromia and her dreams, when it comes to the spark, everything is different. Stayed tuned to find out more! Elita was one of my many shockers that I plan to introduce into the fic!

**FunkyFish1991**- Ah, so it seems you have finally migrated over to the main branch of WE. I'm happy you seem to be enjoying yourself in the lore.^^ While it is a challenge to balance and weave so many storylines together, even stretching beyond the bounds of this fic and delving into others, it is the most rewarding when others such as yourself appreciate it, and when the truly adept begin to piece together parts of the puzzle. _Surface of the Sun_ may be on hold for now, but it's not on the backburner forever.^^

**Bunnylass**- *keels over* Did I read your review right? Did you say you were planning on three epic reviews for the chapter? I think I actually lost the ability to read and had to wait for my brain to reboot before I could read that again. Just that one review was mind-blowing, anymore and I might die of happiness overdose. I don't know how you do it, but even in just that one review geared for the first scene of the chapter, you picked up on everything and more that was meant to be there. And you say you've been looking forward to seeing a little more of the darker Sunstreaker? Have I got a treat for you~ This chapter practically oozes with him. I can't wait to delve into his transformation in _Surface of the Sun_, though... that will certainly be a trip.

Special thanks and credits to **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, and **FunkyFish1991**.^^

**Cosmic love, everyone.^^**

**As We Come Together  
****In Which Introspection is Undesired**

The wormhole had been miraculously kind to them, spewing the _Loki_ out on the other side with little more than superficial damage. They were a little too close for comfort to the new yellow star looming to their portside, so Sideswipe somehow coaxed his battered ship to engage its engines and putter out of danger. He set the automatic pilot to head for the nearest planet, which happened to be a little chunk of rock boiling in its own gases from its proximity to the star- Venus was the designation on file. It was better than nothing until they sorted themselves out.

Sunstreaker came out of his protective crouch over Prowl the moment the ship stopped feeling like it was going to fall apart. The tactician, for the most part, was offline. Only the sickly whine of over-stressed cooling fans and the weak but erratic pulse of his spark gave sign that he was alive. A dribble of topaz energizer shone from the corner of his mouthplates, which Sunstreaker scraped away with a claw, glaring in spiteful confusion at the glimmering droplet that sat on the top of his finger. Sideswipe's hand came down on his shoulder, breaking his reverie.

"Prowler okay?" he asked.

"He's in one piece," Sunstreaker replied, shifting aside to allow his brother to crouch close and run a hand across the tactician's faceplate.

Static buzzed through the bridge as the comms were opened. _"What happened?"_ Arcee asked, sounding a little worse for wear.

"Wormhole," Sideswipe called. "Don't worry about it, Arcee. We all got through in one piece; only minor damages to the ship."

A sigh drifted through the open channel. _"Not all of us are in one piece,"_ the femme informed darkly. "_My arm fell off."_

Sideswipe made a face, turning expectantly to Chromia for help. Thankfully, Chromia was a lot more receptive to Arcee's plight.

"I'll be right there. See if you can engage your energon valves in the meantime," the older femme instructed, springing to her feet.

"_I already did,"_ Arcee replied. Losing a limb was becoming too routine for her not to know what to do. _"Just get here before anything else falls off." _The channel fizzled out.

"I better see to her," Chromia said as she made her way to the bridge exit.

"You know we're close, don't you? The wormhole... it was the one to Earth," Sideswipe intoned needlessly.

The lights in the femme's optics dimmed, her hand coming up to her chassis. "Yes, I know." The metal was uncomfortably hot, worse than it had been when she first onlined; Ironhide was closer now than he ever had been, and with that, her spark was roaring for his with a vengeance.

Both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked away as a blue lash of electricity arced from the femme's chassis. She was way too calm now, like all the rage she'd been throwing at Sunstreaker had suddenly compressed and internalized, like a compacted storm.

"We're too far away to open a good channel to Earth, aren't we?" she enquired.

"With the _Loki_'s commns? We'd have to get closer first," the red twin informed, gesturing vaguely to the console behind him. "Radiation from the star is throwing long range out."

"I see..." The look that crossed Chromia's faceplate was torn. It physically hurt to be so close and yet so far. "Do whatever you have to in order to get through to Earth."

"I'll do my best," Sideswipe replied. Chromia nodded, swinging out into the corridor.

Sunstreaker watched the door disinterestedly for an astrosecond before returning to the mech left in his care; no one had really won in the match between himself and the femme, and neither of them really cared at the moment.

Sideswipe made a whistling noise as he starting poking Prowl's frame with the tip of his foot. "Is he really unconscious?"

"Yes."

"Huh..."

Sunstreaker glared when he picked up on his brother's urge to tie Prowl up in return for tying him to his chair. Any other time, he would have been all for it, but as fresh from a fight as he was, his patience was thin. "Don't even think about it."

"Too late, I already thought it," Sideswipe wheedled, but raised his hands when he got another icy look. "Okay, okay, I just won't follow through." He tapped Prowl again with his foot, getting the same feel one would if they were prodding the broadside of the sleeping dangerous animal. "That was quite the fit he had, huh? Never seen Prowl look like that before."

"Neither have I."

"He must be really sick."

"Nooo, _really_?" Sunstreaker's sarcasm was thick enough to drip from the words.

Sideswipe rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay, understatement of the vorn."

A roll of optics was Sunstreaker's only reply. Even though there was no light shinning behind the tactician's optics, there was an ochre glint to them, a dead giveaway to the build-up of energizer nanobots in his system. Of all the bots he knew, Prowl was the _last_ mech he thought would sink to using energizer. Jazz had been known to dabble, sure, and there were droves of other bots who'd taken their own shots for various reasons. But _Prowl_?

"Help me get him into a chair," Sunstreaker suddenly called, scooping beneath Prowl's shoulders. "I don't feel like coddling him on the floor." Sideswipe was quick to move to Prowl's legs, and together they hefted his weight to the captain's chair, adjusting for relative comfort. Once sure he wasn't going to flop to the floor, the golden mech stepped away in order to steal the forgotten vial from the floor, bringing it to optic-level to inspect.

"Is that energizer?" Sideswipe intoned, leaning his lithe frame against the arm of the chair.

"Yeah."

"Toss it here, let me see it." He held out his hand expectantly, catching the crystalline carrier when it sailed his way. It was tipped under the lights, scanned, and then sniffed, all done in the expert order of a mech who knew what he was looking for. Lastly, the remaining drop in the vial was tipped passed Sideswipe's mouthplates, recoiling violently as the substance reacted. "Urgh, that's high quality slag!" he gagged, digging into subspace for a small cube of high-grade to get rid of the acrid taste.

"_Pure?"_ Sunstreaker asked, incredulous.

"Completely," Sideswipe confirmed with no shortage of disgust. "No wonder he's been such a glitch lately! That stuff is rancid!" He stuffed both his high-grade and the energizer vial into his subspace pocket. "Wonder where he got it all? Couldn't have come cheap..."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. Might know the supplier, that's all," Sideswipe said mundanely, as if it were perfectly normal to know suppliers of illegal goods. Granted, one was not a trader in Kaon without knowing a few bots. "I guess this means the stash I saw in his quarters really was energizer."

"You saw it?"

"Sure, a few orns ago. Figured it was something else, though. I mean, let's face it, it's _Prowl _with _energizer_. It doesn't seem right. With anyone else, sure, I'd buy it, but _him_?"

"That's pretty much what I was thinking," Sunstreaker intoned, smirking a little. Sometimes two minds were no better than one, especially in their case.

A smirk curled the red mech's mouthplates as he leaned over Prowl's prone form, slumped as he was in a very un-Prowl-like position. "This would be perfect blackmail, y'know? He'd never live it down." A mischief-sparkling gaze slid Sunstreaker's way. "We could paint him, too, if you want. Like we used to when we were younglings, remember?" They had been such handfuls as younglings, always keeping the stunt troop they lived with on their toes.

"I remember," Sunstreaker replied absently, nodding.

"You want to do it, for old times' sake?" Sideswipe prompted, already gearing up to bolt for the paint.

"He's sick, and you're going to exploit him?" Sunstreaker enquired, strangely calm in the face of possible blackmail fun. Normally, it would have garnered some kind of response. He used the tip of his claw to tilt Prowl's head back to stare at the slack expression. Even offline, the mech looked like he was pain. It reminded him of something, or was it someone? Unfortunately, he couldn't remember what.

"I- oh. When you put it that way..." Sideswipe quieted, twiddling his fingers. The blackmail part sounded fine, and he wasn't opposed to painting the mech up like a fool, but telling others about the energizer felt like crossing a line. Prowl may have been a glitch, but he was _their_ glitch; they had a love-hate thing going on, even if they'd never admit it. "I'll make it look like he went into recharge during his shift. No one will know the difference."

"If that's what you want to do, I'm not going to stop you," Sunstreaker stated, optic ridge quirked. "But, just so you know, I'm not going to come to your rescue when he throws you out an airlock, either." Golden claws continued to inspect Prowl's frame, trying to grasp at thoughts that felt as evanescent as nebula clouds.

"Ouch. Okay, no Prowl-blackmail for me today," Sideswipe ceded. Instead of slouching off to a console to begin sorting out the _Loki_'s internals, he lingered unsurely, curious of what he felt through their bond. Sunstreaker knew the moment Sideswipe's interest turned to him, feeling with equal clarity the warm touch of his brother's spark, the tickle of curiosity that was not his own.

"What are you thinking about?" the red mech prompted. While their bond allowed for them to feel each other, it had been a long time since they had been free to see into each others' thoughts.

Sunstreaker dropped his gaze back to Prowl. "Just wondering what would make a mech like him stoop to..." he paused to think of the right word.

"Our level?" Sideswipe offered.

"Using energizer," he concluded flatly.

"Same difference." Sideswipe flapped a dismissive hand. "It's not like it's that bad for you. It gives you the buzz you need when you need it, and, as far as I know, it's not addictive."

"It's damaged a lot of mechs, though," he pointed out, not that he cared for the statistic. Prowl would have cared, though.

"So? We've managed to kill more mechs than energizer ever has and you don't see us labelled illegal."

Sunstreaker rolled his optics once more. "No, we're labelled something else, half-bit."

Sideswipe shrugged nonetheless. "That's beside the point. Thing is, energizer isn't the most dangerous thing out there. You just don't let the nanobots build up, that's all. Medics get their circuits in a knot over anything."

"Yeah..." Sunstreaker let his claw come to rest under a slate in the dark armour in Prowl's neck, scraping along the vulnerable energon line beneath. A part of him was tempted to flex his finger, slit the line, just to see what would happen. Sensing that urge, Sideswipe straightened, ready to intervene, only to find his brother reign himself in on his own. To better protect Prowl from a possible future attack, he interceded himself between his brother and the tactician. Sunstreaker accepted the interference and stepped away.

Sideswipe relaxed against the chair once more, watching Prowl in a way that was like trying to read his mind. "Have you ever heard of energizer doing this to a bot? I mean, I've seen my fair share of fragged up stuff, but this?"

"It's not nanobot build up," Sunstreaker reasoned. "It'd be leaking out his optics if it was."

"What else could it be?"

Sunstreaker traced the lines of an old abstract mural crawling along the edge of a console. "He could be taking the energizer to cover something else up," he offered absently.

"Why wouldn't he just go to a medic to check it out?"

"It could be something they can't help him with." For all the physical wounds and data corruptions a medic could fix, there were some parts of the processor they couldn't touch, which left either deletion or reprogramming. Neither option was truly welcome to any bot, even for Sunstreaker; he wanted his demons fixed, not erased.

Sideswipe nodded carefully. Medics, even ones as good as Ratchet, were not gods. They couldn't fix everything. "It's _Prowl_, though. It's completely illogical for him to do something like this."

"Is it? I think he was being as logically illogical as he could be; if he didn't have the medics, he went to the next best thing."

That garnered a sharp laugh. "Do you even remember what energizer tastes like? If this was the next best option, I'd hate to see the third best."

A snort drifted from the golden twin. "Whatever. It's just a theory." What was it about this that was drawing his interest? What was it about the look on Prowl's faceplate that kept bringing him back?

"You know, there's only one way to really know what's going on in old Prowler's head," Sideswipe prompted, optics not-so-subtly sliding to Prowl's interface panel. "Just a little peek won't hurt anyone." He reached for the innocuous little panel, fully intending to invade Prowl's personal space.

"_Sideswipe!" _

He jerked back with a squawk as the comms buzzed to life.

"_I need you down here right now. Arcee's arm is completely dead and I need help wiring a new one in,"_ Chromia ordered.

A pleading look was shot Sunstreaker's way, which his brother rebuffed with a pointed look.

"Pleasseee?"

"She called you, not me." There was no way in the pit he was going if he wasn't called. Sideswipe was the unlucky glitch this time.

"_Sideswipe, are you coming or not?!" _

"Fine, I'll be right there." Passing Sunstreaker on his way out, he pouted darkly. "Fair-weather friend."

Sunstreaker smirked. "I'm your brother, not your friend." He made sure to send along some laughter through their bond to grate on Sideswipe's nerves. That was brotherly love for you.

With his brother gone, that meant the bridge was left to himself and Prowl. A breem passed while he simply chose to stare. It was strange to see the mech in such a vulnerable position. Not just in the close to breaking sort of way, which he had been for a long time coming, but in the already broken way. Quick, smart, rigid Prowl- broken. Somehow, it didn't equate. And that look on his faceplate kept bothering him. It meant something to him from somewhere important, but he didn't know from where.

Before he knew what he was doing, he found his hands once more at Prowl's neck. His claws slid beneath the slates. It would have been so easy to kill him. A simple flick of his hand would allow the mech to drain dry. That would wipe the look off his faceplate. The temptation was fierce, enough to alarm Sideswipe, but no follow through came. He went for Prowl's interface panel instead. With his defences down, the tactician's secrets would be easy pickings.

The connection was forged easily, cable to port. Not knowing exactly what he was looking for, or how long he was going to be floating around in Prowl's processors, Sunstreaker took up a perch on the side of the chair.

At first, there was nothing to see. It was just black. Disturbingly quiet. Even for a mech in recharge, there should have been _some_ kind of activity going on in his processor. Stray data compiling somewhere or an active memory file open. There was nothing here. He wondered briefly if this was what it was like to be in the mind of the most anally organized bot of the Autobots. Everything was so organized it looked as if everything were frozen in time.

The quiet was not to last, though.

With a thoughtless brush to a locked up program, the facade around him wavered. Something rolled through their connection, a strange fluxing sensation like a wall trembling before its fall. Sunstreaker only had a moment to brace himself before a data-torrent crashed into his processor. The volatility of it caused him to rear back with a roar, stunned as if he had been hit with a physical blow. It was thoughts, memories, files, programs, and emotions all crashing into one another, boiling like an angry storm. The maelstrom was so strong it was making Sunstreaker's own processor spin, leaving him sick inside. He was being sucked into Prowl's mind, dragged in by clawing memories, noise from a thousand thoughts screaming in his audios.

All at once, he saw a mech's life out in front of him; Prowl at Simfur as a pre-programmed tactician, devoid of emotion, acting as a purely logical being. He learned what friendship was; camaraderie amongst his fellow Security Response mechs. Learning fear, and anger, and hate from those he pursued in the streets of his city. The pain it took to learn of war, how illogical the whole thing was. He became an Autobot because it was the most logical decision. Became a commander because he was the best at what he did; rose to second in command because he got even better. And then there had been Jazz. Jazz, the most illogical of them all. Quick, clever, dangerous Jazz. That was the faceplate that kept repeating over and over; the first time he met Jazz, the first time he laughed with Jazz, the first time they interfaced. Things had been better with Jazz because he made dealing with things easier. Whereas Prowl didn't know how to deal with the emotions that were unnatural to him, Jazz did. But Jazz wasn't here anymore. He hadn't been around for a long time. Knowing that hurt Prowl; the absence of his lover hurt. Prowl had loved Jazz. He _still_ loved Jazz.

A small shock trembled through Sunstreaker. He had never thought of Prowl as a creature that could love. Prowl had always been Prowl; not really a mech, just Prowl. Someone he didn't want to think of that often. And Jazz had always been Jazz. Someone who made your processor hurt if you thought of him too much. They interfaced. That was about it. Sunstreaker had never thought about _love_. The length and depth and breadth that the tactician was able to feel, the intensity of it, the fear that came from it. No wonder he wanted to shut his emotional center down. He couldn't handle it. It was too much. The energizer had been there to keep his spark at bay.

Deciding there was nothing more of interest to him in Prowl's mind, Sunstreaker tried to back out of the storm, only to find that something prevented him from moving. A wash of panic hit as he realized one of the many anti-hacking programs Prowl had in his processor had engaged, a snare program designed to turn the hacker's own mind against him. He could feel the program working its way into his processor beneath the storm of rampant thoughts and memories. Tendrils of data became like needle-tipped fingers in his mind, capturing his own memory files and ripping them open. A sudden flood of nausea hit as everything he never wished to see flew passed his optics.

There was no stopping the new unbidden image as it flashed in Sunstreaker's mind, an old memory he wished he could delete but could never bring himself to do it. It was of a beetle-green bot so small she could fit into the palm of his hand. A pre-program like Prowl, brought to life without the ability to care. Nothing special. Everyone had been a pre-program in Kaon; nobody could afford to care. But she had learned, for him. Like Prowl, she had learned what emotions were and paid the price for it.

_Stop it!_

He remembered the look on her faceplate as she recharged. Always in pain. No amount of happiness or friendship could take it away.

_I said stop it!!_

All that was left of her now was a pile of ashes at the bottom of Kaon's destroyed gladiator ring. She lived in faded paintings along the _Loki_'s walls. The only thing Sunstreaker had left of any of his friends and family were paintings.

_**STOP!!! IT!!!**_

A desperate cracking noise filled the bridge. When Sunstreaker's optics came back into focus, he realized his hands were around Prowl's neck, squeezing. The metal was buckling.

_**Just die already, will you?!?!**_

It was too much. Too raw. If he kept squeezing, the images would stop. If Prowl was dead, the snare program would die. He wouldn't have to think of _her_ anymore. She was Dead. Dead. Dead. There was no changing that. No changing the fact that everyone around him died. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to remember it. He just wanted it to _stop_.

Red hands were suddenly scrambling at his own, trying to loosen his grip.

"Sunstreaker! What are you doing?! Let him go!"

Sideswipe's voice was loud in his audio, panicked. Their bond roared to life as he tried to get through to Sunstreaker, attempting to yank him away by the spark. The added war within their bond only added to the chaos going on in the golden mech's head, doubling the fury that looped back to his brother. It was a terrible fury that burned and raged.

"Sunny, please! Let go! You're going to kill him!"

"I don't care!"

"Yes, you do! You're not a monster, Sunny! Don't do it!"

In the struggle, the interfacial connection between Prowl and Sunstreaker was severed. As the tactician's grip on his mind released, so did Sunstreaker's death grip. It was so sudden that the still-struggling twins were thrown backwards, sprawling across the floor. There was a flurry of red and gold as Sideswipe rushed to pin his brother, forcing flailing claws to the floor. Their bond was so raggedly open that for a single astrosecond, Sunstreaker couldn't remember which twin he was- the red or the gold one. His spark was reaching out too desperately for its other half, leaving no boundaries between individuals. Sideswipe spared nothing as he reached back, wrapping himself around his brother's spark and trapping him.

"_What the pit were you thinking?"_ Sideswipe hissed as soon as he felt tension drain from the frame beneath him.

Sunstreaker let his head fall to the side, optics dimming. Relief flooded him as he realized his mind was his own again; not quiet, but thankfully devoid of things he didn't want to see. He remained silent, unable to answer his brother.

"Sunstreaker?" Silence, accompanied by heavy, shaking relief. "Please, answer me," Sideswipe pleaded, his voice softer now. He sounded scared.

"I wasn't thinking," Sunstreaker admitted quietly. He was tired of being stuck on the _Loki_, surrounded by things that made him think. Monsters weren't supposed to think. No matter how much he hated it, he was a monster.

Sideswipe released his hold, sitting back. "You almost _killed_ Prowl." The metal of the mech's neck was going to have to be banged out. An energon had been nicked, a small rivulet of energon leaking down his armour. Thankfully, Sideswipe had gotten there before anything worse happened.

Sunstreaker shook his head, unable to look up at his brother. "I just wanted it to stop."

"What?"

"_Everything." _

The wild rage may have dissipated from Sunstreaker's spark, but Sideswipe still felt the pain, conflict. He guided his brother's faceplate to look at him, trying to peer into his icy optic and was surprised to find them alive, bluer and deeper than he'd seen in a long time. "What did you see in Prowl's head?"

"Too much." Without meaning to, his optics slid from Sideswipe to Prowl, finding him crumpled and slumped forward. He was never going to be able to look at Prowl without thinking of what he knew now. The thought made him want to purge his tanks. Without a word, he sat up, letting Sideswipe move to the side. When the red mech tried to wheedle in through their bond, Sunstreaker attempted to evade, only to find he lacked the strength to block his brother out. Instead, he evaded with words. "Where's Chromia?"

"Still looking after Arcee," Sideswipe murmured. What remained unspoken was 'Arcee is her problem, and you're mine.' He glanced at Sunstreaker's interface panel, and then met his optics. "I can help, y'know? If you want. I can handle it."

"No... I don't want anyone else in my head right now." He eased up from the floor, looking unsure of himself. A little lost. "You said Chromia's still with Arcee?"

"Yeah, just putting the finishing touches on the new arm."

"Alright." He made his way towards the exit, making sure to cut a wide berth around Prowl.

"Where are you going?"

"To find her. I want to finish what she started." Anything to keep from thinking too much.

* * *

A long, low pneumatic hiss issued throughout the dark bridge as the interfacial cord connected to the back of the Mastermind's head disconnected. In a series of angry hisses mirroring the first, a thousand black cables disengaged from their purchase, a few live wires sparking in the dark as they collided. Held in midair for an astrosecond, they twitched like the tangled raw nerves of a living beast, and then withdrew into the surrounding shadows. The restraints that held the singulat form of the Mastermind stationary above the floor released, dropping him several stories to the frigid floor below. His landing echoed loudly throughout the dead silence of the ship.

For several moments, he stood unmoving. A blazing yellow optic pierced the gloom, adjusting and readjusting. He was thinking.

The latest piece of material met his requirements perfectly.

**Designation**: Nightbeat  
**Alliance:** Autobot  
**Division:** Special Ops  
**Frame Type**: Mech, general use

The designation was inconsequential to the equation, hence disregarded and replaced with an appropriate catalogue number. His division was likewise inconsequential, though possible useful information may be stored in his processor imparted by such a position; if such a hypothesis was proven true, the information would be harvested. Frame type, again, was insignificant to the equation, but noted that mech-sized frames were easier to carry out experimentation on. Alliance was the most important; it had to meet his requirement or else his equation would falter. It had taken vorns to construct the perfect equation to determine the pattern of abductions in order to reduce suspicion from all factions. It was the epitome of mathematical genius and logical application. Thus far, it had served well. His base material was of good quality with minimal attention aroused.

Experimental Applicant XX2-4620008PSI, AKA Nightbeat, somehow had broken the pattern despite meeting requirements.

Initial scans had revealed two curious revelations about the new acquirement. One, a tracer of high-quality Decepticon make had been left on him, and two, there was an unknown program of indiscernible origin or use active in his processor. The tracer had been easily dealt with. It was possible that it had been left by the crew of the _Double-cross_, but upon further deliberation, it was determined that Swindle was too cheap to spend the kind of funds it would require to purchase such technology, and furthermore it was unlikely the mech would want to jeopardize his standing with his best patron. Logically, a third party would have to have been involved, one of undetermined standing with both Autobot and Decepticon factions, seeing as the unknown agent had been able to acquire the technology and pass it on without trouble. An unknown of such dangerous proportions, aware of the machinations of the Mastermind and the need for such high-quality tech to combat the technologies of the ship, would have to be hunted down and destroyed. Such a task would be logically delegated to the most appropriate mercenary available so as not to incriminate nor bring attention to himself or connected operations. As for the unknown program, until origin and use could be determined, it would remain as a variable unknown in the equation. Further study would be required. Deletion would remain dubious until an exact purpose was confirmed.

Material generally did not last long under the strenuous experimental regimen, and the schedule of experimentation was precisely calculated; there was no option for deviation. In order to establish constants to adjust the equation by and correct the miscalculations of this acquirement, observation and study of Experimental Applicant XX2-4620008PSI would have to commence immediately.

A drone peeled away from the wall, ordered to the bowels of the vessel where the newest experimental subject was stored to begin observation.

Another figure peeled away from the wall, this one unseen by the Mastermind. Like the drone, it was of undeterminable frame construction, neither mech, nor minibot, nor femme, nor microbot, though undoubtedly Cybertronian in origin. Its naturally dark plating blended with the gloom of the bridge, and as it glided forward, it revealed its feet to be melded with the floor. It was not an individual, but an extension of the ship. A blaze of unseen pit-borne flame followed in its wake.

Mastermind may not have been able to see the apparition, but logic dictated that it was there. One did not come to dwell on a ship such as this without quickly learning of its true nature. Granted, their interests were of compatible similarity, so their relationship was neither an obstacle nor a detriment.

Several view screens came to life along the front of the bridge, each one showing a different angel of the Beta Zen region. One image drew particular interest, drawn from a side screen to the largest frontal screen, enlarged to display the wormhole anomaly and the small vessel that had disappeared within shortly before.

"That ship is going to give us trouble," the apparition mused, cocking its head.

Had the Mastermind remained connected with the ship, he would have heard, but as it stood, he remained ignorant. His only cue was watching the view screens as they shifted, focusing on the colourful merchant vessel.

"Autobots, I would wager, following their friend," continued the unseen creature, his interest growing the more he watched. "Their minds hold great entropy. They are chaotic and broken... I think I like them. Nevertheless, they pose a danger to us if they know of our presence." Purely out of self-indulgence, the figure put upon an air of pondering. There was none to see him, and he already knew what the view screens held, but that did not take away from the enjoyment of the act of pondering. It was so hard to do in his natural form. When he had had his fill of deliberating, he turned to the Mastermind and glided over. That single yellow optic adjusted and readjusted, but no matter the setting, he would not see what was not really there. The only warning of the apparition's proximity was a curious breeze carrying a stale scent.

"It would be wise if we followed them through. Even if we cannot stop them, I am interested to see how this particular variable will develop."

Mastermind stared unblinkingly at the single image of merchant ship on the view screen, the repeated loop of it disappearing into the wormhole. He had heard nothing but silence. Around him, a change took place in the ship, a new tension of expectation charging the air. New drones dispatched from the walls, moving to the appropriate modules.

"Engage engines. Bring the _Psi_ through the anomaly."

Psi curled a smile of pure poison, another act of indulgence as he melded back into himself. "Perfect."


	30. Behold Horrors

This was a hard chapter to write! . Partly because of the content, and partly because of what happened recently. See, I had to take my cat in to the vet recently for a sizeable lump I found on her chest, which had to be removed with surgery. Despite being 12 years old, she got through the procedure fine and is recovering well, but my bank account is now shot thanks it. But I'm not bellyaching over something silly like several hundred dollars gone, because I know Lucy would do the same for me, and I'll make the money back with all the hours I'm getting in the bakery. The lumpectomy was only a precursor of the day, though; as I was going out the door to pick up my cat, I got a call from work from a friend asking if I could come in and finish her shift. You want to know the reason she needed me to come in? Her puppy was being put down because some fucking asshole decided to put a rake through the dog's head. Yeah, a fucking rake. Buddy managed to escape, only to be hit by a car, and when animal control found him, there was blood coming out every orifice and basically zero chance for survival. Sufficed to say, I went into work for the girl and had my dad pick up my cat. So, in light of that tremendous fuckery on behalf of some lunatic human bastard, I have been hair-trigger close to going postal for the last few days. No living creature on this damn planet deserves to have its head smashed in with a rake!!! My opinion of the human race has never been high, but it dropped a hell of a lot that day. So, yeah, if the chapter sucks, it's pretty much because I couldn't get the image of a puppy with a rake sticking out of its head out of my mind. -_-

_*ahem* _Okay, now that that rant is off my shoulders, I'll move on to thank you corner. I've been really blown away by the response as of late- chapter 28 actually achieved 19 reviews!!! I literally cried for each review, it was such a nice feeling to read everyone's responses! And even last chapter received 15, which is awesome! Your feedback really helps with the creative inspiration for this story and every kindness you bestow on me is greatly appreciated! Thank you so much everyone!

**Special props to some of the best gals out there- **Litahatchee** for helping me with the chapter! This story wouldn't be half as good as it is without your input! **Bunnylass**, for some of the most epic review sprees I have ever seen! If there ever was an angel on Earth, I swear it was you, girl! And** FunkFish1991**- not only is she an amazing puzzle-solver, but she's also like the reincarnation of Da Vinci! Her fanart for WE, links in my bio, are all sex-worthy and mind-blowing! You're a doll, my dear!

**Jason M. Lee**- I shudder to think what would become of his victims if he ever got his hands on experiment records from wartime... Nothing good would come of it, that's for sure.

**CuteKitten**- Sunstreaker used to be one badass gladiator in Kaon, and even if he is an Autobot now, I don't think he had the spark to let go of all his old ways. And, of course, it's not Sideswipe unless he's pranking someone, even if that someone is a sick and incapacitated Prowl. XD Psi's appeared and has been mentioned in a few other fics, like _Even Angels Fall_ and _Surface of the Sun._ You'll find out in the future how truly bad he can be.

**Bluebird Soaring-** Ohhhhhh, I'm so glad that you liked the chapter! It was really intense to write! And I don't think there's anyone in the universe brave enough to take on what's in Prowl's head, save one very special Pontiac Solstice, that is. The convo between the twins over energizer was unbelievably fun- it really is old hat for them, which you'll see when I get to that in _Surface of the Sun_. ;P

**Flameshield**- *sigh* Sadly, I don't think Sunny or Sides will ever learn their lessons. ^^; There have been many hints throughout the story about who his little friend is, but all will be revealed in the future soon enough.^^ Hide and Mia and all the Autobots will all have a very big part to play in the future. It's going to be intense to write.

**FunkyFish1991**- Ah, everyone's broken in one way or another, my dear. One can't fight a war for thousands of vorns and walk away unscathed. *sigh* But it seems you were on the money for the chapter, weren't you? Guessed right with Psi! He is, in fact, one of the Original 13, but do you remember which one? xD You even caught on to Sunny's little friend! I was practically cheering when you did! You even found her in my gallery on dA! But, you know, calling me evil is more of a compliment than anything~ I revel in the evilness that is me! xD

**Elita One**- Yeah, being stunk on a tiny ship with a bunch of messed up Autobots would drive anyone of already questionable sanity completely bonkers.

**Balrog Roike**- Ah, I love making unconventional partnerships work- it's like the league of extraordinary evil! xD Every Cybertronian, be it Autobot, Decepticon, or Neutral, is suffering in this- they've fought for so long, they don't know how to _not_ hurt anymore. But I think you're basing the entire portrayal of the Autobots off the small sample given by the _Loki_; the others who have been portrayed, Ark crew or recent arrivals, while still broken in their own ways, are not necessarily violent. The _Loki_ just happens to be crewed by a bunch of particularly nasty Autobots who have been hit rather hard by the war.

**Silveriss**- My dear, I take great pleasure at throwing curve balls at my readers. So long as you enjoy the writing, I'm happy.^^

**Black Dragon**- Ah, you're right on the money, my friend.^^

**Violetlight**- No, I don't think Prowl's going to be very happy at all... But I'm glad you enjoyed the Mastermind character. He's not an OC at all, but a very familiar Con we all know and love to hate.^^

**Chloo**- Ahahahahahahahaha~ Would it be so terrible to admit that I get a secret kick out of torturing my characters? XD I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks it makes for a good story! There's going to be loads of lovin' and drama to come on Earth~ Ironhide and Chromia and going to be epic! xD

**Bunnylass**- *Flails in insane circles of epic happiness!* Holy flying hells of awesomeness!!! Five reviews! Five! Three for chapter 28 and 2 for chapter 29, PLUS 1 for Serendipity Kiss! *dies a little bit from review overdose!* I've probably said this before multiple times, but you are one of the best readers a writer could ever ask for! The depth in which you go into in your reviews is truly an inspiring thing! And some of your theories are squee-worthy! I wish I could tell you what you're right about, but then I'd end up ruining it for everyone else! I'll have to catch you on msn or something. ;P It's great that you found out who Psi is, more specifically what he is~ You're completely right when you guessed sweet was good and stale was bad. Hope you enjoy this chapter!^^

**Lady Tecuma**- The Mastermind will do more than make your skin crawl, my dear~ He's capable of doing so much more. *evil grin* Prowl's been getting the shitty end of the stick for a while and it does look like he's about to catch a break any time soon. -_-

**Litahatchee**- OMG! LAWL~! You didn't miss the boat at all! In fact, I think you got on just in time! xD That is one EPIC review! Loved it! xD You are one AWESOME friend!

Special thanks and credits to **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, and **FunkyFish1991**.^^

**As We Come Together  
****In Which We Behold Horrors **

Without light, Nightbeat could not see what touched his faceplate. Several little pinpricks, small and thin, with a slight tremor running through them- he surmised it must have been the femme's fingertips. The way she glided over his faceplate, tracing every detail of the war-worn metal, it was as if she were trying to make sure he was real.

"Elita-?"

Those trembling little fingers suddenly became darts, ramming into his mouthplates in order to instantly silence him. He watched her blink once, and then listened as a painful creak lurched from her frame as she leaned forward, pressing her mouthplates to his audio receptor. A hushed breath of stale air ran passed him, creating a _shhhhhhhhhhhh _noise.

"_He's listening." _

Knowing better than to ask who when silence was required, Nightbeat remained quiet and unmoving. He had never personally met the femme known as Elita One, though he had had the opportunity to encounter her sparkmate a few times in the distant past. He knew of Elita only through holopics and vids; when she had first gone missing, holograms and audio files had been dispatched to every available base in hopes that someone would find and identify her. It was painfully obvious now why she had not been found. What was with Nightbeat now was barely recognizable.

As he pondered the impossibility of finding such a femme in a place like this, he absently tuned out the silence of reality for the storm raging around him. The voices were all shouting in tangent with one another, and if he could have pressed his hands to his audios to quiet them, he would have. Sadly, physically blocking them worked as well as it did on ghosts. He'd hear them even if he were deaf. If he was forced to listen to them any longer, there was a strong chance they'd drive him to deafness, if insanity did not catch up to him first.

_Center of the storm!-Belly of the beast!-Unmaker's Right Hand!-Bringer of Entropy!-Traitor!-Liar!-Monster!-Flame of damnation!-Bringer of the end!-Optics in the darkness!-The Fallen One!_

_The pattern's in chaos!-Entropy in the universe!-There is no escape!-The end is coming!-No one can save you!-He is everywhere!-He is watching!-It is the end of the pattern!-There is no more!-This is the end!_

They were louder now than they ever had been; an assault of pure noise. They were a thousand voices playing havoc with each other, their panic lashing in near-palpable waves. He felt their disembodied fear and he made it his own. His trust had always laid in what he heard, and if something existed to frighten _them_, he was damn well going to be scared of it too.

_You should be!_

Another creak from Elita's frame announced a release of tension. Whatever had been listening was now gone, or, at least, it had backed off enough to appease the femme.

"His attention is elsewhere now," she murmured. If the ship had not been so utterly silent, her voice would have been lost. She sounded hoarse, as if her vocal processor had given out long ago; it was the voice of a torture victim, raw from screaming.

Nightbeat took a cursory glance about himself, only to remember too late that he would see nothing. "Whose attention is elsewhere?"

"The ship's."

"The ship...?" Without consciously meaning to, Nightbeat looked around once more, and then out of habit, he blinked. It took an astrosecond to realize the figure lurking in the blaze was no longer there. He shuddered, cringing away, opening his optics; this new puzzle was becoming frighteningly bizarre. "What kind of ship is this?"

The answer came in twofold.

"A living one," Elita sighed.

_A fallen one_, hushed the voices.

Their answers resonated in him, more subconscious than conscious. It was another puzzle piece, if not an entire puzzle.

Setting his new mystery to a mental backburner, the Special Ops agent focused his attentions on the matter that was unquestionably most pressing; the identification of Elita One. If it really was her, if she had truly been here all this time, then there was a chance the others were alive, too. No matter their condition, there was chance that other Cybertronians had survived their captivity. The moral boost it would mean for the Autobots to see their Femme Commander and the captives back would be invaluable. Special Ops training thankfully prevented the agent from getting too ahead of himself; emotion was not ones friend in hostile situations. He reached out blindly and found a small hand on the floor in front of him, and when it twitched he knew it was attached to someone. A gentle squeeze conveyed whatever comfort he could spare.

"You've been here for a very long time, haven't you?" he asked, adjusting his vocal processor to hide the immediate fear pulsing in him. He needed to sound as calm as possible. There was no telling the mental state of the femme after being in captivity for so long.

"I have been here long enough," she replied. There was no intonation in her voice.

"Can you tell me who you are?"

"Experimental Applicant DCLXVI-1010011010PSI." Automatic and cold.

"Experimental Applicant DCLXVI-1010011010PSI," Nightbeat repeated cautiously. He'd encountered bots like this before; it was a form of psychological break down by removing a captive's designation and making them a number. Break a bot far enough and they would forget everything about who they used to be. If that applied to Elita… "Do you remember an alternate designation?"

Her optics flickered, glazed and distant. "I don't know."

"Do you have memory of an alternate designation?"

"I don't know."

He leaned forward, grasping the femme's hand a little tighter. "Are you Elita One?"

She jumped at the sound of the designation, perhaps startled by how familiar it felt. "Say that designation again."

"Elita. One."

"E-li-ta?" she repeated slowly, testing each sound separately. It sounded right, but she couldn't be sure...

Nightbeat backed off a little, suddenly wary of his initial guess. "Are you the sparkmate of Optimus Prime?"

"_Optimus."_ A new light came into the femme's optics, her whole demeanour suddenly transforming. So long had passed since she had heard her own designation, but Optimus's was one she would never forget. Even when she was scheduled for experimentation, she never let go of him. Optimus Prime. The Prime. Optimus. Prime. He was a thousand thoughts running in her mind, the pulse in her sparkcase. She was the other half of Optimus Prime. Her optics met Nightbeat's and smiled for the first time in forever. "I know Optimus Prime. He is my sparkmate."

"And your designation?"

There was a long silence as memories were wracked furiously. "…I can't seem to access that information."

Nightbeat patted the little hand he held. Even remembering so little was more than he could have hoped for. "That's alright, don't strain yourself. If you are the sparkmate of Optimus Prime, that would make you Elita One."

The femme started once more, a light shiver caressing her. That was her designation. She could feel it in her spark. "I am Elita One."

"Yes, you are Elita One," Nightbeat asserted firmly.

She repeated several times, delighted to find that the name alone brought such a feeling of relief that her entire frame sagged. It was as if spell had been broken. Maybe not the whole spell, but a good chunk of it shattered. A few dusty memories crawled out from their hiding places and stretched.

"I am Elita One, commander of the Femme Division of the Autobots. I am the sparkmate of Optimus Prime." She even laughed a little as she spoke. Her hand drew loose from Nightbeat's grasp, only to move both her palms to his faceplate. "Thank you." He was drawn downwards to allow her forehead to brush his. _"Thank you."_

"I didn't do anything. You knew all along who you were, I just sort of reminded you," the agent mumbled humbly, suddenly shy under such affections. It would be better if they celebrated when they were free.

The femme backed away, sighing an eternity's worth of release. "I have been Experimental Applicant DCLXVI for so long... It feels so good to remember now. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you enough." Again she sighed, followed by a twinkle-like laugh. "I thought Elita One had been another captive that passed through here. They all start to look the same after a while. But here I am again." Her voice was still so quiet, but with a new life colouring it. Her frame still trembled, though a new strength beyond physical brightened her gaze. It was as if her spark had been reignited.

Nightbeat wished he could see her faceplate as she spoke, but remembered his option for sight was not the most pleasant. He put his back to the frigid wall, not at ease, though slightly better than before. "Many have passed through here, haven't they?" he asked quietly.

She quieted, contemplating. "Regrettably, yes. Many bots have come, but they never stay long. What happens here... their sparks can't handle it." Her thin fingers touched him again, on the knee this time. "What about you? How did you come to be here?"

"I allowed myself to be captured by the Double-cross in order to find out exactly where the Mastermind is keeping his captives. Even if they are no longer here, you still are, as am I; the Autobots will be able to use the last coordinates transmitted by the tracker I had on me to find us. They'll be mounting a rescue any time now."

"You're Autobot, then?"

"Yes," he asserted, realizing he had not offered his own designation to Elita. "I am Autobot Nightbeat of Special Ops."

"Nightbeat," Elita repeated, and then shook her head. "Forgive me if we've met before. Everything is still very fuzzy."

"No, don't worry about it. It will take awhile for everything to orient itself in your processor again, but if it's any consolation, we haven't met before. I do know of you, though," Nightbeat assured. "As soon as we're out of here, I sure the medics will do everything they can to help sort out your processor and get some of the more stubborn memories back."

The dim light of the femme's optics flickered, dying a little. "When we're out?"

"Yes, of course, when we're out," he asserted, nodding needlessly. If he was trying to instil hope for himself or for Elita, he couldn't quite tell. "I've been working on the kidnapping cases for a very long time, and, sufficed to say, this is the biggest breakthrough I have ever had."

"You call this a breakthrough?"

"I don't know what else to call it. I've been working orn and night to figure out who the Mastermind is, where he is, why he takes the bots he does, the pattern, _modus operandi. _Now that I'm here, it exceeds _everything_ I ever thought possible of the mech. Primus, the ship alone is beyond any technology I have ever come across. When the Autobots come, they are going to have a field day with this thing."

She shook her head, and if Nightbeat could have seen her faceplate he would have seen her frowning. "The Autobots won't find this ship, not unless it wants to be found."

"What do you mean by that?" the agent pressed, clearly puzzled.

"Like you said, the technology on this ship is beyond anything you've ever come across before. The only way for the Autobots to find this ship is if it wants to be found, and even if that happens, it will be unlikely that..." her voice trailed off, optics dropping to the floor.

Nightbeat frowned, tipping his head. Still the voices whispered in his ears, so loud and desperate, yet so incomprehensible. "What? What's unlikely?"

Elita shook her head once more, her optics turned pitying. "It will be unlikely you will live that long."

His pump stuttered, struck by how final her words sounded.

"Everyone dies in this place," she continued, unprompted. "They last for a few rounds, but eventually their sparks burn out."

"I see." There didn't seem to be anything else to say other than those two little words. Elita was the expert in bots passing through this place; she had probably seen hundreds pass through, if not more. He brought a hand to his faceplate, scrubbing the tired metal. "I will die in this place."

"I'm sorry. You sacrificed yourself." And the way she said it, the unspoken words on the end rang clear- "_probably for nothing."_

"So it would seem..."

_We all die sometime. _

Ah, figures they would clear up to say something like that. Death always was a favourite subject of theirs.

"I guess it would be kind of appropriate if I do die here," the mech said, smirking. Primus, how he loved to hate how fate worked.

Elita did not find it so amusing. "There is nothing appropriate about this."

Nightbeat shrugged, suffering from the distinct feeling that Elita could see him despite the lack of light. "It _is_ appropriate- for me, at least. All my life, I've been looking for this place and I didn't even know it." Elita obviously wouldn't understand him, but his companion voices would, and most certainly he himself was starting to understand. Just another puzzle, after all. "Now that I'm here, it feels like my entire life has been leading up to this point. I've loved mysteries and puzzles for as long as I can remember, and I've always been looking for the one I could never solve. This is it. I was meant to be on this case, to come here, to try and solve this-."

"Are you telling me you think you were fated to come here and _die_?" Elita enquired sharply.

"We can't all live forever, can we?" And his disembodied companions were of no help once more, twisting in their own vocal agony. Maybe he was meant to figure this out on his own for once? The only thing he knew for sure was that he was slowly losing himself inside his own thoughts. "All I know is I have been looking for this place long before I knew it existed, and now that I'm here, I want to know more. Maybe I was meant to find you, or rescue you, or it could be something as ridiculous as meeting this ship. I don't know how these things work-."

"You're not making sense anymore."

"That could be the point! It's not supposed to make sense. Something like this is probably too big to make sense to any of us. I could have this whole thing backwards, or upside down, inside out... There are a thousand different possibilities, and a thousand more to each consequence. I'm part of the pattern now, I have to play my part, even if I don't know what that part is... For all I know, I could have been a part of it all along." He was starting to sound more crazy than calm, which was better than scared, but not as good as sane. The wheels were beginning to turn in his head, sifting, sorting, testing which puzzle pieces fit where and how.

"I don't understand," his fellow captive intoned.

"That's okay, neither do I," Nightbeat replied nonchalantly, an expert at not understanding everything that came his way. His optics were so bright now that they reflected off Elita's dirty metal. Sensing her confusion, and subsequent discomfort, the agent pushed himself to his feet and backed up a couple steps. Rusted limbs and Primus only knew what crunched beneath his feet, but he paid no heed. Keeping a hand to the wall, he paced. He liked to pace sometimes, it helped him think.

"I think you should sit down," Elita called nervously, though he could barely hear the offer over his own clattering of footsteps. She tracked him with narrowed optics, suspicious, if not a little scared.

"No, I can't. I need to know more- about this place, about the bot behind it all." He turned on the tip of his foot, cutting back to his original place sharply. He was so quick he took Elita by surprise, causing her to cry out when his hands flew out and caught her by the upper arms. "You know what goes on around here, don't you? Can you tell me? If there's anything you-."

"Let me go!" she shrieked, voice erupting in terrible static. The sudden panic of having hands on her, pinning her, caused her to react instantly, violently. She writhed so hard felt as if she would snap in half. Nightbeat released her instantly, backing as far away as he dared when he realized he'd overstepped his boundaries. The violation he read in Elita's optics was burning.

"I'm sorry. I forgot myself- I just got so excited-." Nevertheless, he watched the femme's optics retreat to the far end of their cell. He didn't dare go after her. His little stunt probably cost him dearly. For Elita's sake, he forced himself to assume the facade all agents did when on a sensitive mission, one that most Special Ops agents were either naturally created with, or learned damn quickly; aloofness. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I shouldn't have touched you like that. It won't happen again."

"No, it's alright. I overreacted. When things start touching you here, it's never for a good reason." The rattling of a shaking frame was so loud it carried clear across the cell. "Just don't do it again."

"I promise." The Cybertronian in Nightbeat made him want to approach again in hopes of offering comfort, but his training had him holding back. He couldn't risk it with how fragile her mental state was. Instead, he did what he deemed safest, sliding down the wall and taking up a neutral position. He opened his mouthplates a few times, hoping to say something, only to find he had nothing to say. It was obvious that Elita could go for orns in silence if necessary, possibly glaring the entire time. He turned to watch her in return, his optics sliding shut in order to see by.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Automatically, his optics snapped open. "So you _can_ see me, can't you?"

"Yes, I can, and if you're not careful, you'll start to see, too." Such a hard edge to her soft voice. She didn't even sound like the same femme anymore. But at least she was still willing to talk to him.

"Would that be such a bad thing if I could see?" Nightbeat intoned. He knew better than most that there were things better left unseen, but something pushed him to want to hear her answer.

"_Yes."_ Elita's optics disappeared for a few astroseconds, and then reappeared whiter than before. "If you watch the flames long enough, they'll start to follow you, first into recharge, and then when you're online. It won't matter what you do, where you go, it will follow you, _watch you_, and you won't be able to do a thing about it." A bitter laugh rang in the darkness- a sound that had gone rusty from misuse. "It's enough to drive you insane."

For the sake of his own sanity, Nightbeat chose not to dwell on that last sentence. He pondered the mystery, thinking of possibilities big and small. "Something was done to us, right? Like a chip or a program implanted into our processors designed to break us."

"That would be the most logical solution, wouldn't it? Run a diagnostic, if you like. Nothing's been done to you- yet."

He ran a few choice diagnostics, all of which came up clean. Being an increasingly paranoid mech, though, the results did little to comfort him; if a skilled bot wanted to hack into a mech's processor and leave something without the recipient knowing, it was possible. Special Ops had a few mechs of their own who knew how. Nevertheless, he pressed on. "A hypnotic suggestion, then? Or perhaps a subliminal projection into our processors...?" Both very fantastical propositions, but not entirely impossible.

"I suppose either one could work," Elita reasoned, using a tone of voice that clearly stated neither were the answer.

Nightbeat felt his faceplate draw into a frown. "What is it, then?"

"The ship," she informed blandly, as if her answer had been the most obvious one of all. Clearly this new Autobot didn't understand all the dimensions of being held prisoner on a living ship. "It likes to taunt us when it's bored."

"The ship gets bored?"

"I'm sure that's not the craziest thing _you've_ ever heard," Elita countered. His lunatic rant astroseconds before he invaded her space pretty much confirmed he was nuttier than a souped-up skidsquirrel.

"Interestingly enough, it's not," he reasoned. "It's the _first_ time I've ever heard something like that, though." That burning figure he'd seen earlier flashed through his mind. It was strange, but so many elements of the mystery sounded familiar to him, like an old forgotten story he'd been told as a youngling. A burning figure, like a monster; a ship so potently evil the air seemed to ooze with it...

_This is a fallen ship._

Say that again, will you?

_A fallen ship._

You're using that word for a reason, aren't you?

_Yes._

A fallen ship. Something that has fallen. Fallen object. No, correction, living ship; fallen being. _Someone_ who has fallen. As a title; The Fallen... If the answer clicked into place any clearer than it did in that very astrosecond, there would have been an audible click coming from him. Now that he knew, he felt ridiculously blind for not seeing it before.

Elita apparently picked up on the sudden change, tipping her head. "Think of something?" she intoned, and by that she meant, 'figure it all out yet?'

"I get it now."

"Do you?"

He tipped his head back until it banged against the cold wall behind him. "Yeah, this is The Fallen, isn't it? The monster himself."

"You shouldn't sound so pleased with yourself," Elita warned. "Knowing the truth isn't going to change what it is."

"I- oh.... _oh_." Not for the first time, Nightbeat had to stop to allow the reality of his new discovery to sink in. Of all the legendary monsters from fairytales and nonsensical stories of his youth, he was really, truly sitting in the bowels of the worst one of them all. The Fallen. He was the story Caretakers would tell only after joors of begging from little ones wishing to be scared. Even for those who did not believe in Primus, when you were a youngling snuggled up on your berth at night, the shadows in your quarters always looked darker after hearing the story. It was real. All of it was _real_.

"Primus." He drew a hand over his faceplate again. As a rule, he didn't usually let things take him by surprise, but this completely blindsided him. "Does that mean he's been the one behind everything all along?"

Without warning, Elita tilted to her feet and disappeared as she turned her back to Nightbeat. When next she appeared, she was somewhere near the force field. "He's a part of it, and I'm sure he had his own agendas, but he's not the one taking all the bots, he just holds them." She put her hand to the charged field, causing a bright static of white energy to burst in the dark. After a moment of blindness, Nightbeat realized he was being shown beyond their cell, into the long sparse isle lined with dozens of shadowed prisons. Rows upon rows of cells rose above them, and sank down into the shadowed bowels beyond the narrow isle outside their own prison. She took her hand away when she decided Nightbeat had seen enough "…You don't see much on a ship like this, even when you can see like I can, but after you've been here a while, you get the feel of things. Even if it's just the drones coming and going, you know there's someone else on board watching. Not just the ship, but an actual mech watching you. I even saw him once." Her fist banged the field, scattering sparks.

"You're hurting yourself," the agent murmured, sorely tempted to go to her aid. Her silhouetted faceplate, so much like a death-mask, disappeared back into shadow as she stood away from the field.

"My neural relays were shut off a long time ago," she assured darkly. By the edge in her voice, it had not been her to shut them off. "I don't remember much of when I was first brought here, but I remember Iacon being attacked, Menasor forming, Decepticon drones being everywhere, and then I onlined strapped to a table with my sparkcase open. There were needles and probes and electrodes feeding into my spark. I could see them going straight through it. Whatever they were doing to me hurt so badly-." Nightbeat didn't have to see her faceplate to know the horror spreading across it from memory alone.

"You don't have to go on, if you don't want to," he offered. Yes, he wanted to know more, he wanted to know everything, but not at the cost of one femme's sanity.

"I have to tell someone, just let me do that before either of us die," she breathed bitterly. "Bots don't survive long here because of the experiments being performed on them. They last maybe five or six rounds before their sparks give out. I lasted, though— no matter how many times I went to the table, the experiments never worked, and yet I never died either. I swear to Primus, sometimes it felt like they were trying to tear my spark in half. Optimus has always been with me through the worst of it- sometimes I even think he's the reason I've stayed alive so long, but whatever the reason, it was enough to make the boss to come down to take a closer look at me. All I remember is a giant yellow optic staring at me." She audibly shuddered. "Just one cold optic."

That one optic was all anyone of the Autobots ever needed to identify one of the most dangerous Decepticons known to the war, but only because no bot had ever seen more of him and lived to tell of it; a mech of no mercy, no ethics, and no code of honour whatsoever. He was capable of anything and everything when it came to science or the battlefield. A single yellow optic and his designation was what they knew him by; the destruction and horror he left in his wake was what they feared him for.

"_Shockwave." _

Elita's optics disappeared as she bowed her head. "Who else?"

However long it took Nightbeat to gather his wits, he had no idea. Of all the bots in the universe, of every monster that was made of metal and bolts, why this one? Why _him_? "Shockwave hasn't been heard from since- since before Iacon fell."

"Most likely because he's been here all this time."

"But what could he possibly want with Cybertronian sparks?"

"I think this is part of the reason," Elita whispered. A shushing click snapped in the dark, and then a seam of light opened up. Before Nightbeat could look away, her sparkcase was open, and the moment it was open, he knew he couldn't look away. What was inside _wasn't_ a spark. At least, not one he had ever seen. If it had once been a spark, what Elita now carried was a sickly shade of yellow, stuttering weakly as it churned over on itself. The light it gave off was weak, illuminating a mottled yellow-brown puss-like mould coating the inside of her sparkcase.

Unable to tear his optics away, Nightbeat addressed his breathless question to the thing in Elita's chest. "What has he done to you?"

Her chassis closed with an unhealthy grind. "I... I think he's trying to find a way to create new sparks _without _the Allspark."


	31. Speak of the Devil

Well, it's official, isn't it? This story is now completely obsolete. Old school. Yesterday's news. That piece of crap Camaro Bumblebee was before he transscanned the sexy one. *sigh* I knew it was coming, but, hey, that doesn't take away from the shock of suddenly waking up and realizing your story is outdated. *shrug* Oh well, I'm just going to have to suck it up, right? It's not like I didn't know the movie was coming out. WE is just going to have to stay the way it is despite what has come to light in _Revenge of the Fallen_. Could be a good thing, could be a bad thing. I'll just have to see what my readers have to say, because it's your thoughts and opinions that keep this story alive.^^ Although, my apologies for the long wait and then this crap-tastic filler chapter. You all were probably hoping for something with a little more bite. The next chapter will be shitloads better, promise!

**Flameshield**- Shockwave really is one sick puppy, but what he does is all for a 'greater' purpose. As to how great it really is, well, that's up to everyone else to decide... And for the fate of Nightbeat, only time will tell.

**Jason M. Lee**- How many other flaming evil ships do you know? XD

**FunkyFisk1991**- *is blown away by review* That is quite some response you have there- I *must* have done something right in the last chapter! XD Finally bringing Elita into the story only means that I will finally be able to begin wrapping this up; she's not so much a mindless slave as she is someone whose been through far too much to be all the way there anymore. She still has quite the story to tell. As for Nightbeat... You're right, he's finally on the path he was inevitably meant to be on, but perhaps he's been on it all along. LOL~! You knew it was Shockwave, eh? Right on! And the story's only going to get better! XD

**Theshadowcat**- I'm happy that you enjoyed the chapter, despite its disturbing content. It was meant to turn heads, and finally reveal why Optimus's spark hurt. The story is slowly wrapping up for the finally now.^^

**Balrog Roike**- Shockwave's a rather interesting character to write for, and what he has planned in the future is no less horrifying than someone's worst nightmare. And I'm glad you picked up on that point in this series that the characters *do* isolate themselves instead of seeking help, which is one of the many damages inflicted on the bots from the long-term horrors of war. But, true to this fic's title, they'll slowly come out of isolation as they come together.

**Elita One**- Everyone seems to be a little bit insane in my stories recently... O_o

**Bluebird Soaring**- Yep, Elita and her story has finally been revealed, but, indeed, what price is going to have to be paid? There are still so many horrors to come.

**Independent C**- My goodness, such high praise! I'm deeply humbled! Thank you~ I'm so glad that you liked this story and its predecessor! *hugs* I can't tell you if certain characters will die, since that would ruin the surprise, but I can say that The Name Game sort of ties into the WE universe, but only on an extremely loose basis.

**CuteKitten**- Elita really is in a tight spot, and I'm a simply wretched writer for doing this to her, but perhaps you could see it as a blessing that she forgot who she was after so long? Not being able to remember might have helped to numb the pain... Or perhaps not. Whichever you'd like to believe. But, yes, indeed, the ship is The Fallen; he could be considered from the movie, but he's more of my own WE version of him. He's still a nasty bugger regardless.

**Black dragon**- Indeed, Shockwave is one sick little puppy. Nobody ever said his methods had to be ethical. *shudders*

**Agent-doo**- The chapter gave you the willies? Well, I'll consider it a job well done, then. It was supposed to be a shocker! XD Through her torture, the Elita I've created for the story is broken, but she's remarkably strong to have withstood Shockwave for so long. Thank you so much for your kind words.

**Violetlight**- Well, if you could call the carnage of attempting to arbitrarily rip a spark in two the more 'traditional' way, then I guess it couldn't be helped. ^^; Don't worry about the Shockwave/Mastermind thing, it was still a surprise to a few people. ^^

**Litahatchee**- Oh Lita, Elita's story has been a long time inthe making, hasn't it? Gawd, over a year of squealing over it on msn and through e-mail. *shakes head* It's almost hard to believe that the chapter is finally out and now she's a player in the larger puzzle. It's almost a relief, eh? Now you don't have to keep skirting around it, right? XD Speechless horror is totally okay in the face of the content of the chapter. I totally had the same reaction to your review... minus the horror. ^^; I was blown away by your enthusiasm~ Elita's coherency was, perhaps, a fault of my own. I wanted to give her *something*, y'know? There's wayyyyyyy too many crazy characters set up in WE to have yet another raving lunatic. We'll just have to say it was her inner strength that kept her from jumping off the deep end, alright? Or it could have been Optimus. The romantic in everyone wants it to be Optimus. *loves* God forbid Shockwave ever find out about Bumblebee... the reason he hasn't is coming up soon. *grins* We can only guess how readers will take it, yes? As for Psi/The Fallen- he's still an enigma for many, but his part will slowly become clearer. Much love! And on a side note, I hope you're having a good time on vacation!

**Williamjamesw**- Thank you so much, even "great and chilling" mean a lot to me.

**Lecidre**- Shockwave is really an evil little beast in this story, and he's only going to get worse. I don't even want to think about what will become of him after Optimus finds out what became of his mate. Shockwave most certainly is going to get what he deserves in the end. Elita's part was hard to write, and it breaks my heart that I'm hurting my readers through her own pain, but there is a ray of hope looming on the horizon. She's held out this long, she'll be able to hold on a little longer. Optimus is going to be there for her no matter what. Much love to you for all your kind words and thoughtful insight. You're too kind! *hugs*

**Silveriss**- "Event Horizon"? Sorry, I'm unfamiliar with the title, but hopefully it's a good read, yes?

**Bunnylass**- Whew, girl, you accidentally hit the submit button? O_o At least you didn't hit that delete or exit button- that would suck some major wrecking balls, wouldn't it? Nevertheless, it's a guilty pleasure of mine to read the two reviews- it's like double the pleasure! XD Your love for Elita and Nightbeat is so refreshing! *loves* I know Elita isn't the Elita we once knew, but it'd be so unrealistic to think that she would remain the femme she was. Nightbeat, in all his wacky insanity and head-voice-hearing, was a lot of fun to write. His part to play is slowing coming to an end, as all things in life must, but it's been my utmost pleasure to hear your enthusiasm for such a character. But now that his part is wrapping up, Elita will take centre stage. She's broken, but as you've so wonderful captured in your review, she's still stronger than most. I say this every time, but your reviews blow me away by how perceptive you are of the characters, themes, plots, and how it all knits together as a whole. It is one of the most thrilling pleasures to read your reviews and speak to you behind the scenes.^^ *Major hugs*

**Reginastar**- Thank you so much for the two reviews in one! It means so much that you would take the time to sit down and write out your thoughts for chapter 29 and 30! Thank you fromt he bottom of my heart! *hugs* For chapter 29- yeah, Hide and Chromia are only planets away! Yay! Their reunion is going to be epic! And energizer can be considered a form of "drug" for Cybertronians. As for chapter 30- The Fallen and Shockwave are quite the duo of doom, aren't they? Their alliance will become more clear in the future, but the truth behind it all will only get more horrifying. Elita's part was heartbreaking to write, but I'm not done with her yet. Optimus will have his say in the matter soon enough.

**Chloo**- Nightbeat's a rather odd character, one who knows so much, and yet nothing at all. Death is one of the largest mysteries he's ever come across, so it would only make sense that he'd be content to finally piece together the answer to that particular puzzle. Elita and Optimus are both going to have some serious issues to work through after all this is over, but they'll be able to do it together. They're both so remarkably strong! And, on another note, I want to thank you sincerely for your kindness in saying that you think this series is a universe of its own. You're too kind, and your words have done well to assuage many of my fears regarding my story in the aftermath of TF2 being released. I'll so my best to hold true to the integrity of WE.

Special thanks and credits to **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, and **FunkyFish1991**.^^

Two words in regards to _Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen_ before this chapter begins: **Wrecking. Balls.** That is all. *has been laughing ever since*

**As We Come Together  
In Which We Speak of the Devil**

"_...all the king's horses, and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpy together again..." _

Apparently the stupid king never had Ratchet to help him.

Dismissing the ridiculous Earth rhyme, the CMO set himself to the task at hand: finishing Jazz's frame repairs. The task itself was not a particularly difficult one; making repairs on non-moving, non-complaining patients was generally easier than the usual slag he put up with. Unfortunately, the emotional attachments and memories associated with the frame cost Ratchet quite a few pangs in the spark.

For any one of their kind, to be affected by an empty frame was ridiculous; without a spark in it, a frame was a mere inanimate object. Cybertronians did not mourn nor celebrate frames like humans did when a death occurred; there were no services, traditions, or laws concerning the treatment of a frame if there was no spark inside it. Whoever was listed in the deceased bot's directory was the one to receive the frame and decide whether or not to keep it for some occasion or break it down to be sold for parts. What Cybertronians mourned was the loss of a spark, that bond of knowing that particular spark resonance was gone from their world.

Well practised in the ways of medics at war, Ratchet had worked his way through mourning Jazz's extinguished spark. While the saboteur may have had Decepticon beginnings, he had become an Autobot through and through; he fought for their cause to the end. It was a comfort to think he was in the Matrix now, driving someone else crazy. Yet why working on Jazz's empty shell affected him as it did was lost on the medic. Perhaps the human practise of mourning empty shells was rubbing off on him? He bristled stubbornly, mouthplates downturned. As much as his opinion of the humans had improved in the last few months, he was still reluctant to think any part of them was rubbing off on him. No, his unusual behaviour could most likely be chalked up to stress and anticipating Prowl's reaction to Jazz's death. Primus only knew, but that mech was not going to take it well. If his ability to handle his emotional center had improved any over the last few eons, it would be a miracle. As it stood, Ratchet was waiting for the pit to rust over.

He shook his head, casting Jazz's frame a measuring look. "You always were the one that helped him deal with it the best," he murmured.

A medic could only do so much compared to the touch of a lover. Even if he didn't believe in things like fate, sometimes all it took was a look at how Prowl and Jazz met, how bizarrely _made_ for each other they seemed to be, for Ratchet to want to reconsider. They were as close to sparkmates as any unbounded pair could be; with Jazz's spark gone to the Matrix, would Prowl be soon to follow? A snort rattled from Ratchet; he had no time to linger on such thoughts. With so much still to be done, the only thing for him to do was work in the present.

A longing glance slid the Allspark's way. It floated austerely in the faint glow of an energy beam in the protective container now housing it, content to tease Ratchet with its silent presence. How easy it would have been to simply take the shard and apply it to Jazz's frame? If only there wasn't the chance that such energy expenditure could destroy whatever was left of the Allspark. Ratchet wasn't stupid enough to risk it.

Doing it the old fashioned way would have to be enough for now.

If he was desperate enough, he'd ask for help from Wheeljack or Perceptor, both of whom were finding themselves at a loss as to what to do with themselves without the usual flurry of demands on their time for better weaponry, repaired armour, or medical assistance. Ratchet had little worry for Perceptor's plight, knowing the little scientist was bound to stumble upon something that caught his fancy, which would probably result in him reversing global warming or finding a cure for cancer. Wheeljack, on the other hand, was a dangerous creature when bored. Things exploded when the engineer was bored. It was a pure act of Primus nothing had done so yet.

_**BANG! **_

Correction. Nothing until now.

"_Awww, frag, that hurt..."_

Speak of the devil...

"Meep meep! Meep meep!"

Surprised to hear something near his feet, Ratchet looked down to discover Tungsten prancing around desperately in attempts to get his attention. For a brief astrosecond, the medic battled with the urge to step on the little slip of squeaking metal. Damn if that vocal response program Wheeljack put in it wasn't annoying as slag. Thankfully, he resisted decommissioning the drone for its master's sake.

"Did Wheeljack fall down the shaft again?" he asked tiredly.

"Meep meep!"

"Dear Primus..." He crossed his optics when he realized he was falling into Wheeljack's stupid habit of talking to the drone. If it wasn't the humans' stupid customs rubbing off on him, it was Wheeljack's nuttiness.

In response to the attention rather than the question, Tungsten spun around and trotted back to the lift that had just pulled a spectacularly horrible landing. It came to stand at its master's twitching hand, squeaking and hopping until Ratchet acquiesced to follow it.

"Jack, is that you?" Ratchet asked needlessly, standing over the fallen mech's prone frame.

"Who else would it be?" the white-and-green mech coughed, fins flashing. "Help me up, will ya?"

"Sure." He grasped and arm and hauled his friend up, scanning him for good measure. "How do these things keep happening to you?" Aside from a good caking of dust, the engineer was unfazed. A few good breems to let the shock drain out of his system and he'd be fine.

"The lift was going too slow, so I thought I'd fix it up a little," Wheeljack said, offering a dazed grin.

Ratchet rolled his optics, suddenly less than amused. "Primus forbid we get somewhere a few astroseconds later than what we could have been."

Wheeljack shrugged, unfazed by such sarcasm. "A little bit of speed never killed no one."

"Right..." Ratchet obviously could to beg to differ, but chose not to. Taking advantage of the drone in their presence, he ordered for a cloth to be brought to him. Tungsten automatically did as it was bid. More out of friendly habit than actual need, Ratchet started wiping away the settled layer of dirt over Wheeljack's white armour. "And was a freefall fast enough for you?"

"Meh, could'a been faster, but the brakes need a little work," the engineer replied, standing still to allow himself to be treated. From experience, he knew best not to move _or else_.

"You think?" Ratchet huffed, swatting the hoverboard-cum-drone away when it got in way. "I have him, Tungsten- engage standby mode." Squeaking an affirmative, it set down on the nearest berth and assumed the indicated mode of operation. To the engineer, he huffed stubbornly. "You always know how to make a mess of things. Can't you ever leave well enough alone?"

"Awww, come on, Ratcht', don't be like that," Wheeljack groaned, though still he smiled. "That was just a trial run; give me another orn or two and I'll have that lift running like they did back on Cybertron- maybe even better."

Ratchet rolled his optics. "The humans have a saying that's rather appropriate for this occasion- _don't fix what's not broken_." And for emphasis, he gave his friend a whack on the back of the head. "Not everything needs to be improved. Some things are just fine without you tinkering around with them."

"Where's the fun in that, though? Ain't nothing in the universe that can't go without a little tweak here or there." Wheeljack chuckled fondly, rubbing his abused cranium.

"Might not be as fun, but it saves me the headache of cleaning up afterwards."

"Ya do have a point there." Letting Ratchet do his thing, Wheeljack indulged in a little bit of polite staring around the cavern. All of the Autobots were aware of the subteranean atrium's existence and the precious shard it contained, but very few felt inclined to visit it. There just didn't seem to be a good enough reason to visit the last shard of the Allspark only to confirm with their own optics that it was lost. Only two humans on base were aware of the Autobots' secret room, though even if Will or Epps suddenly had the desire to see the place, the lack of air and extreme gravimetric pressure would make sure they were dead within minutes.

"What brings you down here, anyways? Has something happened topside?" Ratchet asked when he found it too quiet. Once finished with Wheeljack's front, he indicated for him to turn around.

"Nothing pressing, no. Thought I'd pass along a little good news I just heard, that's all." He spun around, craning his head over his shoulder to keep Ratchet in sight. "Apparently a few new bots have made it planetside. They're in the Himalayas right now. They got 'Cons on their afts, but they say they're handling themselves. Hound and Smokescreen were sent out a little while ago to help sort out the problem. Chances are they'll be here any orn now, real soon by the look of it."

Ratchet nodded, straightening slowly from his finished task. "That _is_ good news. The more Autobots that land on this Primus forsaken little planet, the more this place starts to feel like a _home_."

"Even though all we do is drive you crazy?" Wheeljack's fins flashed merrily.

"That's exactly what makes it feel like home," Ratchet sighed expansively, shaking his head. Almost too brief to be seen, his mouthplates curled into a rueful smile. "Do we know who landed?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "They were in the middle of a firefight, so Blaster didn't catch their designations. He's guessing Trailbreaker and Pathfinder by the sound of them. Could be others, though; the transmission was too messed up ta hear right."

"With Hound and Smokescreen deployed, we'll know soon enough."

They wandered together into the main space of Ratchet's work area. Said medic immediately began applying himself to the necessary tools and material needed to make Jazz's frame whole again. Wheeljack watched the motions of Ratchet's back before looking away, drawn to the glow of the Allspark shard. Like many Cybertronians, he had never had the opportunity to be in the Allspark's presence personally, except for the orn his spark had been gathered from it. It was a shame they had to meet again like this, neither dressed for the occasion.

Deigning it impolite to stare at the tattered hope of his species laying in ruins, Wheeljack cast his optics elsewhere. His gaze swept to the remains of Jazz's frame, shaking his head sadly with what he saw. Yet another friend gone; another spark to the Matrix.

"Prowl ain't gonna know what ta do with himself when he finds out Jazz's gone," the engineer suddenly intoned, his voice an odd mix of wistful and mournful.

"We'll have to deal with that hurtle when we get to it," Ratchet sighed with a shake of his head. "If worse comes to worse, I'll reprogram him."

Wheeljack paused, his fins dimming. "Reprogram him, huh?"

"If he becomes as difficult as I imagine he will, then it might end up as my only option." A medic's response, clear-cut and without emotion. Ratchet's next words, though, were marred by the self-deprecation of a medic jaded by actions of the past and what was to come in the impending future. "Primus knows, I'll probably end up doing my fair share of reprogramming and deleting as more of us start showing up. If what I've seen so far is any indication, then our side isn't exactly in the best of health." There was a pause, both in voice and movement as distant pensive darkness crossed his faceplate. "I don't imagine either side is doing well, are they?"

Wheeljack knew there was no need for an answer. Through their frequent interfacing sessions, Ratchet had quickly come into possession of all of Wheeljack's memories. The medic knew too well the dilapidation their kind had fallen into.

"I'll have my work cut out for me..." Ratchet suddenly breezed by Wheeljack, leaving the way open for the engineer to join him at Jazz's berth if he wanted to. The white-and-green mech accepted the invitation with a solemn silence, hands already transformed into an array of tools. As if they had not been separated for thousands of vorns, they fell into familiar pattern with each other. Over the muted chink of their tools on the frame's innards, they spoke.

"You know, I don't know if that's going to work anymore- the reprogramming, I mean," Wheeljack said, hands moving in tandem with Ratchet's.

"Oh?" A sharp glance up facilitated a quick answer.

"I've shown ya what it's been like, Ratch'. We've all been reprogrammed and deleted ta death. Ask anyone who's been around this whole time- there's not an Autobot out there who still has all his original programming without holes the size of craters in the data." His hands shifted one way, Ratchet deftly moving to another area so as to give him appropriate space. They fell into an instinctual rhythm of give and take, working in balance with each other in a way that was utterly natural to them. No words had to be spoken to convey when and where the other needed to be. "Just look at me when I first got here- ya can't exactly say I was firing on all cylinders, now can ya?"

"You weren't _that_ bad," Ratchet moderated, flinching at how false that sounded.

Wheeljack shook his head without looking up. "I know what I was like, Ratch', and it wasn't pretty. I'm tired of losing myself to this stupid war, an' I'm pretty sure everyone else is, too." His frame sagged a little. "There's gonna come an orn when a medic goes in ta delete something out of us and finds out that there's nothing there except an empty shell."

Ratchet frowned, though his movements never stilled. "That's rather melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Don't matter if it's melodramatic, 'cause it's true," Wheeljack insisted. "When it comes ta the frame, we can repair, rebuild, reinforce, we can even reformat if we want. When our processors get involved it's either delete, delete, delete, or reprogram the slag out of the sucker. Primus forbid our sparks ever got involved- it's not exactly like we can delete those, now can we?" A sad laugh drifted from his followed by another shake of his head; their sparks were as involved as they could be. "When have we ever tried to really _deal_ with a problem instead of covering it up with a coping program or something? Why can't we face our own problems, Ratch'?" His blue optics turned a little pleading when he glanced up. "It's what we _should_ be doing...right?"

Surprised by such initiative and clarity, it took an astrosecond for Ratchet to respond. He tipped his head, a ghost of a distant smile curling his mouthplates. "You've been seeing Felicity lately, haven't you?"

Wheeljack steadied the clamp he was adjusting. He couldn't deny where such radical ideas had come from, and he most definitely could not deny Ratchet. "Yeah, been seein' Dr Spring after ya suggested it."

"It all makes sense now." Ratchet worked with his own clamps, securing Jazz's frame into a position for welding. "I wouldn't say she's _wrong_ by suggesting such things, it's simply different from what we know. If it's working so well for you, then I suggest you continue your treatment with her. I only want what's best for you, Jack."

"Thanks, Ratchet. That means a lot to me." Ratchet was a friend that meant the world to him. He smiled as he continued, "Dr. Spring, well- she really knows what she's doing, as far as alien psychology goes. It's only been a few sessions, but even that has been a big help, y'know? Gettin' me back ta my old self." The sincerity in his voice was enough to warm Ratchet's spark. When the medic looked to the mech across from him, he saw a friend he hadn't seen in a long time; bulky but benign, optics warming to a deep, glittering blue as his frame sagged with the weight of his many worries fading.

"It's a lot different from what we're used to, what the humans do," Wheeljack carried on fondly. "I like it a lot, though. Sure, it's not as fast as reprogramming, but I think it's less damaging in the long run. Or, at least, I think it is... It's been a lot of help to me, anyways- like a weight's been taken off my shoulders. It's nice being the old me again."

A fondness for his long-time friend flushed Ratchet's system, a welcomed feeling after so long of stress and longing for a piece of home. "I'm glad to hear that. I've missed the old you more than you would believe." He squeezed Wheeljack's hand warmly, which was returned whole-sparkedly.

"I missed you, too, Ratchet. I missed ya a lot. You should be proud- I'm getting back on track, getting my thoughts together... it's nice, is what it is," the engineer confided softly.

"I _am_ proud of you," Ratchet intoned warmly. "For everything that's happened, everything you've been through... Jack, I'm so _proud_ of you for doing your best to get back to yourself. I've seen my fair share of mechs who just give up after half of what you've seen, so for you to want to carry on..." If his hands weren't buried inside Jazz's frame, he would have hugged the mech. "Whatever Felicity is doing for you, if you feel it's right, then I'll help in any way I can."

Wheeljack's optics shone as they met Ratchet's gaze, his spark fluttering in his chest. "You're helping right now," he said happily.

Ratchet smiled contently into his work.

Wheeljack watched him for a moment before laughing. "Primus, I'm loving this planet more and more," he chuckled amusedly, disbelieving his own words. "I don't know what it is about this place, but it sure does funny things to us." When the medic looked up, optic ridge quirked, the engineer waved him back to what he was doing. " I just mean that it's so _peaceful_ here. We don't have to be Autobots, we can be ourselves, y'know? Earth's been changin' everyone and everything coming here- we have a home again, we're settling in, starting to remember what it's like to have lives without being all rank and rules with the Autobots. We've even got Decepticon-Neutrals on the planet, for Primus' sake! If that's not change, I don't know what is!" He chuckled, shaking his head. "And frag if I wasn't surprised ta find you, of all mechs, workin' side by side with a little organic. This planet is something special, I'd say."

The medic shrugged, embarrassed by his own folly of thinking of Earthlings as lesser beings. They were still freaky little things, but they had some unique strengths. "It's safe to say the humans are a rather _interesting_ species; I don't think I've ever encountered anything quite like them."

Wheeljack chuckled. "Dr. Spring says the same thing about us."

"I have no doubt Felicity would," Ratchet conceded ruefully. "We have been discussing the parallels and divergences of Cybertronian and Earthling medicines for quite some time now. It seems our kind are sorely lacking in the field of psychology when compared to our organic counterparts, especially when it comes to dealing with the effects of war." He dared glance up at the green-and-white mech across from him. "Felicity was actually the one to suggest you seeing her. I was going to start reprogramming you during our next session, but seeing as this option appears to be helping..."

Wheeljack's fins flashed in alarm. "Trust me, Ratch', I like the organic option a pit of a lot more."

"So I figured."

An emphatic nod followed suit. "Yeah, Ratch', I'd be sending others Dr. Spring's way if I were you. I think the humans really know what they're doing when it comes ta slag like this. They can't just delete when things go bad- I like that about them. They _have_ ta deal with things whether they like it or not. They're braver than we are." He chuckled as the final clamp was set, allowing them to begin welding the endoskeleton.

"They're ridiculously brave for such fragile things," Ratchet said, sounding like a fond admonishment. "Given a few tweaks to compensate for our varied psychological profiles, their techniques could be applied in place of former Cybertronians medical options." Steady hands followed the seam where a single metal support rod had been snapped in two, fusing it together with the touch of a super-heated torch. "I have no doubt that our people will run the gamut of all psychological deviances, and, if what you say is correct and our old medical techniques are no longer an option, we will have to rely on the humans and their knowledge of the subject to aide us in recovering."

A green-accented head bobbed wisely, going about his own welding tasks. "After fighting fer this long, there's not a single one of us that don't need the help in a bad way. Even you an' the rest of the _Ark_ crew, too." He left the spinal support column to Ratchet's capable hands, choosing to weld the more minor internal bits. "Once there's more of us on the ground, Dr Spring was thinkin' of setting up group therapy sessions."

The mere thought caused Ratchet to involuntarily snort, leaving a minor scorch to Jazz's internals. "I wonder how many wrenches I will have to throw before mechs go willingly?"

Wheeljack rolled his optics. "_I_ like the sound of it. Everyone else will just have to warm up to the idea."

Ratchet finished with the seam he was working with, smoothly transferring to a new section to begin anew. "We won't know until we try, I suppose. When more come, something will be devised to help them. If that happens to be group therapy, then so be it. I'm not against advancing our medicines if it means I'll be able to help the ones who really need it."

Wheeljack looked even more heartened by Ratchet's approval. "We could include affected human soldiers in the sessions, too! They'd know the drill enough to at least help things along," he suggested enthusiastically. "Having a our fellow alien brothers in arms present would be a great way to put old organic stereotypes to rest- help get to know each other better, possibly foster better interspecies understandings..." He looked rather hopeful over the whole prospect.

"Or it could be a brawl waiting to happen." Ratchet suggested, trying to be level-headed, if not entirely pessimistic.

"Well, if a human youngling could take out the most feared mech of our kind, a brawl between our species would definitely be interesting," Wheeljack laughed.

In perfect harmony with each other, they threaded the proper wires into their right circuit boards. Energon lines were applied, lubricant tubes, and hydraulic fluid carriers were all fixed into the frame. Lastly, Wheeljack backed off as Ratchet took over the delicate task of applying and connecting the neural relays and pressure sensor grid. As soon as everything was too his liking, Wheeljack was allowed back in to help weld the inner and outer layers of armour-cum-exoskeleton back together. Without the life of a spark powering the self-repair systems, the scar left from the weld was going to remain. Stepping back, both Ratchet and Wheeljack took a moment to pay their respects to a job done to the best of their ability.

"Almost good enough to stick a spark in," the engineer commented.

"Just so long as it's good enough for Prowl," the medic sigh tiredly, bracing his hands against the berth. He surveyed the frame in minute detail, almost as if he couldn't believe he was finally done. "Who knows what he's going to do with it when he sees it..."

Wheeljack laid a hand to the fluorescent mech's shoulder. "As soon as Prowl's done mourning, or fritzing- whichever comes first- he'll probably do the most logical thing. In the end, we'll be the ones breaking it down and recycling it for parts. Jazz's spark is in the Matrix now, and you know better than anyone we can't spare to waste anything." Maybe in an attempt to lighten the mood, he intoned a cheeky, "dibs on his magnetic pulse generator."

Ratchet's faceplate furrowed in annoyance as he stared back at the engineer. "And what could you _possibly_ need Jazz's magnetic pulse generator for?"

Wheeljack wandered away nonchalantly, a new light in his optics. "I've just been thinking of some projects I could start on," he offered airily. "Everyone's got their own little things to tinker with around here, and seeing as I'm the only true engineer currently on the planet, it's only right that I get crackin' on something." His fins flashed in time to his suddenly jaunty mood. "Seein' as we got that wormhole handy to the planet, I was thinking about doing something with that. It's not a very stable anomaly, right? It only opens after it gets charged by a solar flare, which ain't exactly convenient to the bots stuck in space waiting fer it. I was thinking if there was some way ta harness the anomaly, we could create some sort of 'space bridge' or something." He shrugged at the stupid name for it, but figured there was plenty of time to come up with a better one.

To his credit, Ratchet looked mildly impressed by the proposal. "Having something like that would be a lot safer for Autobots to get to Earth through," he reasoned.

"Damn straight it would be," Wheeljack prompted proudly.

The medic smirked. "If it's successful, it will certainly facilitate easier travel between this region and Beta Zen. We wouldn't be as isolated on Earth as our current situation stands, though a side effect would be that Earth itself would be more open to the universe at large."

"Ah, we'll get ta that when we get to it," Wheeljack said, waving it off. He was way too excited about the mere prospect to being thinking of the downsides that could resut. "If this first one works, who says we can't build others and network them? We'd be able to go anywhere in the universe in the blink of an optic! Or even build portable space bridges and use them for ships in the same way some of us use personal teleportation. Possibilities are endless!" Not to mention, with the way clear for incoming bots, whatever was in Beta Zen was a lot less likely to catch them. The sooner Wheeljack got working on his space bridge proposals, the better!

"Think you could pull it off without throwing the planet out of orbit or destroying a sun?" Ratchet asked, only half-teasing.

"I haven't made it this far without getting _some _things right," Wheeljack replied ruefully. "I got you an' Perceptor here ta look over my shoulder, so I'm not worried. All I need is for Prowl to show up soon to get his approval on collecting a few parts from Jazz and then I'll be all set to start making small scale models." When he saw Ratchet beginning the task of cleaning up their mess, Wheeljack whistled for Tungsten, who immediately hopped to the task. While the drone may have been small, and relatively useless compared to its larger brethren, it was a speedy little thing when it came to sorting out messes.

Nodding his thanks, Ratchet nonetheless lent a hand in the chore, handing tools to the drone as it puttered back and forth putting them away. "You're treading a thin line letting your hopes ride on Prowl's agreement to cannibalize the frame. We have no idea how he's going to react, and if you're not able to get that generator out of Jazz-."

"Don't worry about it, Ratch', I'll think of something otherwise. There's plenty of scrap left over from the _Uller_ to play with, and even the humans have tech I could salvage to make a small mag pulse generator. It's not like I can't make one from scratch." He smoothed his hand over Jazz's finished frame, admiring the painstaking work Ratchet must have put into restoring the frame; battle scars had been removed, nicks buffed out, and dirt from battle washed away. "Whatever Prowl chooses to do, I'll be fine with it. I just wish he'd get here soon."

Ratchet's warning to be careful what he wished for was cut short as an open comms fizzled to life.

"_Hey, everyone, I'd suggest y'all get ta the command centre right now! You're never gonna guess who's finally calling in!" _Blaster called. The excitement lacing his voice could hardly be ignored.

"_This better be good, Blaster," _Ironhide's gravelly voice intoned across the comm.

"_Better than good, 'Hide. I'd expect you'd want ta get yer aft in here now, seeing as it's your sparkmate coming ta call." _

Ratchet's attention was immediately caught, as were several other present bots included in the comm..

_"I'll be right there. Tell her to wait_," Ironhide ordered. It did not take a genius to catch the new hitch to his voice, a new air of excitement, or perhaps desperation, that had taken hold of it within the last astrosecond.

Blaster laughed brightly. _"Believe me, Hide, she ain't goin' nowhere 'til she sees ya."_

Immediately the weapons specialist closed out of the channel. There was no doubt to anyone he was running for the command center, dignity be damned.

"_This is wonderful news, Blaster. We'll all be there shortly,"_ Prime announced, clearly pleased. Several sentiments from the varied Autobots on base followed suit, though Perceptor's well wishes were notably absent. But, in light of the little scientist's past clashes with the femme, his indignancy in crossing her path again so soon could be understood.

Wheeljack nodded along to everyone, despite the fact that only Ratchet was there to see him. "That'll be meaning the _Loki_'s nearby. Prowl and the others will hopefully still be on board."

The was a pause, and then Blaster quickly confirmed, _"Yeah, Chromia says she's got Arcee, Prowl, and the Twins on board. They haven't managed to kill each other yet."_

"There goes all the peace on this planet," Ratchet groaned, meaning for only Wheeljack to hear it but accidentally transmitting instead.

"_What was that, Ratchet?"_ Optimus asked, startling the medic.

"Nothing, Prime," he assured quickly. Shooting Wheeljack a dirty look as the engineer chortled at him, he wandered over to the collapsed shaft and peered up the dark tunnel to the vague spot of light he could barely make out up above. "Don't mind our absence from command center; it might be a while before we get up there."

"_Whoa! Hey! Watch yourself, Ironhide!" _Blaster suddenly squawked. There was the distinctive sound of a sweeping bang, a grunt, and then the sound of something small and metal hitting a wall. A long groan followed Blaster as he picked himself up off the floor. _"I __**told **__you she wasn't goin' nowhere, ya half-bit!" _

Optimus's deep chuckling filtered through the comms. _"Don't worry about being late, Ratchet. I don't believe Ironhide has an issue of starting anything without you."_

"No, I didn't think he would," Ratchet sighed. "I'll be up as soon as I can." Closing out of the comm., he turned to Wheeljack, who had done the same and was now wandering over to the crumbled lift. He appeared wholly unconcerned the damage left in his wake, far more preoccupied with the newest matter at hand. A white-and-green hand clapped him on the shoulder merrily.

"Speak of the devil, right?" he laughed.


	32. The Uninformed Become Informed

I… I sincerely don't know what to say to all of you. Beyond words, I am humbled that all of you think so highly of my series. Each of your reviews truly brought a twinge to my heart and a light to my day when I read how much each of you appreciated this story and wished for it to continue. The support has been overwhelming, and in some cases, tears were actually brought to my eyes. You have all blown me away with your kindness and dedication, so the least I can do is continue this story for you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank each and every one of you for the love and consideration you put into your reviews. It is my greatest hope that you all continue to enjoy this chapter and the rest of the story.

**Theshadowcat**- Yay! They made it! :D

**BadDogg**- Thanks so much~ I'm glad to know even an "outdated" story is worth reading. :)

**Jason M. Lee**- lol~ So I've been told many times by readers, WE acts as its own canon. Now it's just official. ^^ I guess there are upsides to being organic. There had to be _some_ pros to balance the cons.

**Elita One**- No, Prowl hasn't been happy for a long time, but making it to Earth certainly won't help.

**FunkyFish1991**- Muahahahahahahaha~! Great big piles of steaming angst are my specialty! XD I'm glad you liked the filler chapter- getting the bots back on track with human shrinks and starting their transformation back to normalcy had to start somewhere. :) Of course, with the arrival of the Loki, a wrench could be thrown in the works somewhere. ^^;

**CuteKitten**- I imagine Prowl's reaction to Jazz's death is not going to be pretty for anyone. Ratchet was repairing Jazz's frame for Prowl. Like it says in the text, it's up to the tactician what he wants done with Jazz's remains.

**Flameshield**- lol~ Character development, indeed. Wheeljack is a good one to finally be getting on track. :) And I suppose WE is now it's own universe, huh? Cool! :D

**Independent C**- Ironhide and Chromia are a pair of real tough bots- they'll last a few more orns. Minor contact will have to do for now. ^^; You have my total agreement over the fact that Jazz's death stinks. He had so much potential as a character! ;_;

**Bluebird Soaring**- Awwww, hun, you always know how to make a writer feel warm and fuzzy! *hug* Everything to do with the future- Ironhide/Chromia, Prowl & Jazz, Prowl on energizer- it will all be revealed soon. Your enthusiasm only makes me want to write faster! :D

**Chloo**- My goodness, have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy your rampant enthusiasm? Your reviews are so heartening and kind, and the love you have for the story is inspiring! Prowl's reaction to Jazz's death is looming ever closer on the horizon. As for Ratchet and Wheeljack, I think their love for one another will always remain in the closest friends department. ^^;

**Karategal**- I agree with you completely! The writers for ROTF surely need to start reading some fanfiction to get a grasp on _real_ writing skills and knowing what the audience wants. Ironhide is about to get a small taste of his mate very soon, so keep on the look out. Maybe it'll be goof for him, maybe not…

**Balrog Rioke**- Adding the element of human psychology to the mix was a great deal of fun for me; it helped define one of the great chasms between us humans and how we function and the TFs and how utterly alien they are. Bringing the two together is a treat. Prowl's reaction to Jazz is coming ever closer, and now even I'm getting a little antsy for it… O_O

**Lecidre**- Awwww, Lecidre, your review alone could make me continue writing this story! You are such a sweet friend! *hug* I'm humbled that you continue to like this story, even after seeing ROTF. Your love for the story and characters always warms my heart. It makes me wish I could reveal what will happen with Ironhide/Chromia/Prowl/Jazz/Everyone, but I don't want to ruin the surprise! XD

**Stripperella**- Um… well, thanks for the "not a review", I guess. ^^; Every one is appreciated. And I'm flattered that you actually like the WE-verse better than the Bay-verse. :D

**Crystal Dragon Claw**- Oh wow! Thank you so much for such generous praise! You're too kind, indeed, my friend. There is much in store for the future of this fic and all the things you're wondering about are bound to be answered soon. :)

**Agent-doo**- lol~ You're welcome to hug as many bots as you like! I wouldn't min snuggling down with a few of them. ;P All your curiosities regarding Ironhide's and everyone else's reactions are soon to be answered in this chapter. I do hope you enjoy it! :D

**Cynthia**- I'm flattered by such high praise, my friend. You have no idea how gratifying it is to hear that a reader enjoys my works. Making a TF fan out of you is an even great honour. I'm humbled. I promise that my stories will continue, and my only hope is that you continue to enjoy.^^

**Silveriss**- Oh, my friend, the torture is half the fun! *grins evilly*

**Kittisbat**- Sorry about the cliffhangers, my friend. They're a nasty habit of mine that I like to employ often. ^^; Poor Optimus, indeed. The news is only going to get worse for him. *sigh* Enjoy all the short stories you plan to read!^^

**Bunnylass**- My dear, I would wait until the end of days for a review from you! As always, I'm blown away by your clarity and enthusiasm, as well as your eye for catching details in the chapter that everyone else missed. If only I could put up a note that said for readers to go read your reviews after a chapter for better understanding. XD Thank you so much for the cosmic love and support. You've been a dear! *hugs*

**Crimson Starlight**- My goodness, thank you so much. I'm so happy you found this story and enjoyed reading it. Yeah, it's depressing with some of its storylines, but there's a light at the end of every tunnel.^^ I'll be sure to continue the story.^^

Special thanks and credits to **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, and **FunkyFish1991**.^^

**As We Come Together  
In Which the Uninformed Become Informed**

Will turned the weighty gun over in his hands, inspecting the alien design with more than a little interest. "So this is what you've been working on for the last few weeks?" he asked, glancing up at Ironhide, who was currently finishing some minor adjustments to a much larger version of the same gun.

Ironhide gave a noncommittal grunt, shrugging as he completed a few last adjustments to the inner working of the much larger version of the same prototype weapon.

Epps turned his over, admiring the long, sleek body and the diamond-sharp targeting array on the top. He peered through the scope to the distant targets at the far end of the warehouse/armoury, turning in a small circle the see how spot on everything was between his crosshairs. Whatever Ironhide had used to build the thing, it _felt_ powerful. Like lugging a miniature nuclear fusion generator. The ergonomics were a little off, though- it was a little too heavy to be wielded effectively by a normal human in battle, and the shape of it was awkward to hold right, though someone like Blaster probably would have had no trouble propping it to his body.

"You're still able to slim this thing down, right?" the tech sergeant posed, peering up from the scope to the metal behemoth who'd designed. "It's great for a prototype, but to make it completely effective in battle, we're going to have to fine tune the design.

Ironhide offered another unhelpful noncommittal grunt, one of his blunt fingers transformed into a long, delicate instrument twisting around in the innards of his project. It wasn't that he was ignoring them, even if he had a habit of doing that too, he was simply distracted by his own thoughts. Recharging for the last couple of orns had become increasingly difficult, each time finding that he dreamt of his sparkmate, onlining only to find that his sparkcase was open and his systems were all but screaming for an overload with the femme. Optimus was of little help when he sought him out, being just as bad off as he, if not worse. Ratchet was still not an option for the weapons specialist. Will and Epps' company had been a compromise for his sanity.

Quirking an eyebrow at the black mech, Will sighed, shaking his head. Ironhide was still pretty hard to read at times, but it was becoming increasingly easy to pick up on the mech's various moods. Deciding that their presence was probably more of a bother to the mech than a help, despite having been invited into Ironhide's workspace in the first place, the captain nudged Epps and set down his own weapon.

"Look, Ironhide, it's easy to tell you're not really into this right now, so we're going to go," he called, not expecting much of a reaction from the alien as he turned to leave. It came as a surprised when a large hand dropped in front of him, barring access to the small ladder built into the side of the workbench.

"My apologies," the mech rumbled deeply, his broad faceplate downturned as the two humans turned to regard him. "It was not my intension to ignore you. I have had much on my processor as of late." He sighed heavily, the hot whoosh of air breezing over the smaller aliens. "My lack of recharge has been taking its toll on my concentration."

Thankfully, that seemed enough for the humans. They nodded in understanding, wandering back to where they had been initially, taking up their weapons once more for something to do.

"We all get that way once in a while," Will assured, trooping over to sit on the flat side of an alien wrench thick enough to be a comfortable seat for him. As was his habit when one of his friends were troubled by something, he peered up at Ironhide with patient eyes and enquired, "Is there anything we can help with?"

Surprised by the offer, Ironhide did well to reveal nothing but an enquiring "Oh?"

The captain shrugged. "Sometimes it helps to bounce your thoughts off someone else, you know?"

Ironhide regarded them with a heavy silence, weighing the offer solemnly. Will meant it sincerely, and Epps appeared to be in favour of the idea as well, evidenced by him walking to Will's side and dropping down on the wrench.

"You gotta admit, 'Hide, we've been working together for nearly half a year and yet we know almost _nothing_ about you personally," the sergeant intoned, leaning back. "Throw us a bone here- we wanna help if we can. What can it hurt, right?"

It was then that Ironhide realized how long he had been working alongside these two particular aliens and how much he knew much about them from friendly exchanges. They had spoken of mundane things- their families, likes, dislikes, places they've been, places they'd like to be, and suggestions of places Ironhide or the other Autobots might like to visit to see the planet. Compared to their openness, Ironhide had volunteered next to nothing. There had always been an intangible void that stood in the way of allowing himself to simply _talk_ with the humans, _his friends_, he reminded himself, on a casual basis. Several months ago, this level of camaraderie would have felt highly uncomfortable. At present, William Lennox and Robert Epps were no more alien to him than a pair of friends concerned for his wellbeing.

His silence did not bode well for the humans. Will pursed his lips in annoyance while Epps rolled his eyes, clearly thinking they were being brushed off. Ironhide's unblinking stare was something they could have done without. It was an unnerving habit of the Cybertronians even on the best of days.

"Yo, Hide? Earth to the big guy." Epps waved his hand to snap the mech out of it.

Finally shaking off the surprise of his own revelations, Ironhide moved to ease himself down on the makeshift seat he'd constructed for himself, putting him on a more even level with his shorter companions.

"I don't believe my personal problems will be of any interest to either of you," he warned.

"So what? If you were human, we'd let you whine, pretend to listen and care, and then drag you out somewhere to get shit-faced to cheer you up. Guy stuff, you know?" Epps said with a shrug.

Ironhide offered a wry smirk. "A very similar custom existed on Cybertron."

"Guess some things are universal, then," the sergeant chuckled.

"But don't get us wrong, Hide- we're not steeling ourselves for a whine-fest. We're _offering_ to listen," Will clarified. "You know about me, my wife, my daughter- hell, you've been to my house and met them, sort of. Epps has probably already talked your audios off about him and Mags finally hooking up. Not once have you ever talked about yourself, though. Only fair that we lend our ears when you need to get something off your chest- you've done enough of it whether you wanted to or not." He spread his arms expectantly. "So lay it on us, big guy. We're not going anywhere."

Ironhide heaved an expansive sigh, his faceplate easing into a thoughtful frown. "As I have said, my problems are probably of no interest to you," he said, only to have the warning dismissed with shrugs. They _wanted_ him to talk to them. Usually only reserving these kinds of conversations for bots he'd known for thousands of vorns, mainly Optimus, it took a little effort to start talking at all. "Very well… My lack of recharge and noticeable distractions as of late have been stemming from my long-term separation from my…" he paused to translate the term, "sparkmate."

There was a pause as the humans absorbed the information.

"You… have a mate?" Will asked, one eyebrow rising.

A deep rumbled sounded from deep within Ironhide's chassis. "Yes," he affirmed gravely.

Will continued to look a little awed. Of all the bots to have made it to Earth, Ironhide having a mate was the most- "…unexpected. I really didn't see that coming." Epps shot him a look that clearly announced _you and me both, man_.

Ironhide growled. "Just because my kind is made of metal does not mean we do not have the capacity for love."

Will drew back, hands in the air to ward off the dark look Ironhide was shooting him. "Whoa, hey, I didn't mean it _that_ way, I just meant- well, _you_ specifically, with a mate."

Ironhide continued to glare flatly, letting Will cringe as his mouth ran amuck.

"Never thought you were the 'settling down' type, but I guess we still don't know you real well. I bet she's a real lucky 'bot. It _is_ a _she_, right? I mean…uh…" the captain contemplated if there was any chance of outrunning a plasma blast if Ironhide chose to fire. The whole did-robots-have-gender question had yet to be addressed with any of the transformers, so for all Will knew, he was digging himself a deep grave in alien-taboo hell.

Thankfully, Ironhide merely snorted at the slip up. "Transformers are not a sexually dimorphic species," he informed. "English does not offer a gender-neutral pronoun, so the designation 'she' will be adequate for now." As soon as Chromia landed, she could decide what she wanted to be.

Will nearly oozed with relief upon realizing he wasn't going to be shot. "Alright, she." He offered a good-natured smile. "I bet you're a real lucky mech to have her, am I right?"

The burly mech made an approving noise. "I have been bonded to my sparkmate for longer than life has existed on this planet and I do not regret a moment of it, except-," he paused infinitesimally as his spark gave a remorseful pulse. "Except for the moments when we are separated." Another noise drifted from his now, this one quieter. "It has been difficult dealing with her absence for so long, over such a vast distance."

"I can't even imagine being separated from my family for so long- I'd go crazy if I couldn't see my wife and kid," Will sighed, now with the utmost sympathy for his ailing alien friend.

"Your human courting and mating rituals vary greatly from our own, but I expected you to understand a fraction of the need I have to see my mate." Ironhide sighed, shaking his head heavily. "There are none of my own kind, save Optimus, who understand what it is I suffer from."

Epps tipped his head, eyebrows knitting together. "Only expected us humans understand only a fraction, huh? What's there not to understand? We got family, too, y'know. We know how hard it is gettin' shipped out to God only knows where to do whatever is your country needs. We got that part down pat, big guy." It was a little hard to keep the minor resentment from his voice.

A snort rattled from the weapons specialist. "I did not mean to belittle your familial connections. I only meant that the depth and breadth of the connection between sparkmates is beyond the realm of comprehension for your species. You take mates, and I have no doubt you experience some form of love for your mates beyond the instinctual need to procreate, but the arrangements differ between our races. Ours are more _permanent_." He regarded them carefully, measuring them once more. "You have no equivalent, as far as I know."

"Enlighten us," Epps intoned, a tad dryly.

Ironhide harrumphed stubbornly, shifting in his seat. He was not the right mech to be explaining the complexities and intricacies of his species' most sacred ritual of _love_. Optimus would have been a good mech to ask- he had all the charisma needed and probably would have been able to find the right words to convey the importance with ease. Ratchet would have been a good mech for the job, too- he'd give all the information on how the procedure worked, and why it was going awry with himself and Optimus. Primus, _anyone_ on base would have been better. Bluestreak, Wheeljack, Hound; they'd romanticize the slag out of it, but at least they'd get their point across.

"Well?" Epps pressed, adding a tone of challenge. It was enough to spur action from the mech. He was not one to turn down challenges willingly.

"On a normal orn, it is ridiculously hard to encompass the true depth of sparkbonding, but to do so in English is terribly inadequate. I will do my best to convey it in terms you will understand," Ironhide grumbled. He touched a hand reverently to the center of his chest, drawing the humans' eyes to where his spark lay hidden. "As you know, a Cybertronian's life force is their spark." There was a general nod from soldiers, who understood in a broad sense of the term. Ironhide continued solemnly. "We are drawn from the Allspark on the orn of our creation and placed in a frame to inhabit. Compared to many races in the universe, we are nigh immortal, as our sparks can last for eons before fading, and in that time, a Cybertronian may go through countless different frames. As you have probably noticed, we are a chimerical race."

"We might have noticed something to that degree," Will intoned, a crooked smirk lighting his lips. By his tone, he obviously didn't know how any of this had to do with Cybertronian sparkmates, let alone why Ironhide missing his was so damn special.

Ironhide gave a grumble of acknowledgement, nodding. "Our sparks are essentially the only part of us that remain constant; they carry the sum of our experiences, our personalities, everything that makes a bot themselves right down to their most base natures."

"Ain't that just like a computer's CPU? Just programmin' an' all?" Epps asked, only to receive a dirty look.

"A CPU can be wiped clean of all experiences, both that of a computer and a Cybertronian's, but unlike a lifeless computer, the elements that make up a Cybertronian individual would still exist somewhere inside them." For added metaphorical flavour, he added, "very much like the human affliction amnesia; your brains may forget the sum of all your life's experiences, but would you not say that person is still in there somewhere?"

"So… your sparks are like our idea of souls, then?" Will ventured carefully.

Ironhide took a moment to consider the possibility. "Yes, the terms would seem synonymous."

As if a light suddenly clicked on in the captain's head, his eyes lit up with inspiration. "So when you say _sparkmate_ you mean _soulmate_."

The mech's optics flashed, picking up on the term and referencing it quickly. It was not a perfect match, but it was closer than anything he would have thought to find in the English language. "Soulmate, it seems, would be the most proper translation," he conceded.

"That's intense, man," Epps whistled, running a hand over his smooth head. If sparks were the equivalent of souls, and the Cybertronians took on their own soulmates/sparkmates, did that mean human souls were _real_? Soulmates existed? His agnostic upbringing almost couldn't fathom the implications of having definitive proof of such.

"More so intense on my part than yours," Ironhide said wryly, baring a distant smirk. Will and Epps were holding up to the explanation far better than he would have given them credit for, and their relative understanding put him at ease to speak. "Sparkbonding is one of the most sacred vows two Cybertronians can make."

"You mean like marriage or something?" Epps proposed, trying to bring the whole soulmate/sparkmate thing back to a reality he could understand.

The weapons specialist indulged the suggestion, despite its wholly inadequate nature. "Not quite. Marriage arrangements vary greatly around this planet, from marrying for love, to purely for convenience; you marry through arrangement, coercion, blackmail, claiming chattel, war prizes, and, in some cases, a human mate can even be _bought _off a market."

To their credit, the humans didn't look any bit pleased with the great variance of marriage options that existed on Earth. They were not so naïve as to deny them, nor say that marriage for love won out over all. Ironhide made a soft, snorting noise through his vents, satisfied with Will and Epps' lack of response. He recognized it not as submission that they were an inferior species, but as evidence that they were strong enough to accept their own species' weaknesses without making excuses.

"In any case," the mech continued, "any such arrangement of 'marriage' less than absolute love and devotion for one's mate would be impossible to bear as sparkmates." The mere thought of any transformer opening their chassis to another without absolute devotion was enough to make him shudder. "To solidify our bond, my mate and I pledged ourselves eternally to each other through the melding of our sparks. It is an unbreakable vow that not many of our own kind take due to its extreme nature; after sparkbonding, exactly half of your spark is given to your lover, and in return, you are given their half. There is no turning back. No divorce." He sighed, his hand returning to his chest, laying his metal palm to the armour in order to feel the warm pulse that flowed beneath. He would carry his half of Chromia with him until death and beyond, but it was a sad consolation when every fibre of his being screamed to have all of her.

"That's… _wow_, Ironhide. Just _wow_." Will whistled between his teeth, a quick hand scrubbing through his short hair. He loved Sarah more than anything in the universe, but he couldn't imagine handing his _soul_ over to her. A glance towards Epps let him know the sergeant was having just as much trouble wrapping his mind around the immensity of the truth Ironhide had just imparted on them. They jumped when they realized Ironhide had one last truth about his condition, this one weighed heavily with the trust he had in them as he spoke.

"I have no regrets in sparkbonding with my mate. The connection between us is… indescribable in both English and Cybertronian. To feel another's life pulse within you is a strength that very few know; their joys, their happiness, their love become your own. When you ar with them, they are your universe." His optics dimmed. "But with their strength also comes their weaknesses, their fears, their pain… Separation can be difficult over long periods of time, over vast distances. The limitations of sparkmates are not something that has been exclusively studied, but as Optimus and I have discovered, being away from our mates is more consuming than the worst agony." His great, crested head rose into the shadows, looking away from the humans. "It has been my distraction for vorns, and I welcome it over any other pain. The orn I cease to feel my mate's presence is the orn I fear the most," he confided, his words heavy. "Death is the only thing that can break a sparkbond. The only solace those left behind have is that they will soon follow."

A small, barely-felt touch to the hand resting on the workbench drew the mech's gaze downward, discovering Will had wandered over to offer his support. There didn't seem to be anything to say to such an admission, so he merely patted Ironhide's much larger hand in hopes to convey _something._ Ironhide moved his hand, laying it to Will's small shoulder to let him know the gesture was appreciated.

"The burdens I bare are my own, but your consideration is not unwelcome," he rumbled.

"Hey, that's what friends are for," Will replied in kind.

Epps finally shoved himself to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his back. It was getting way to heavy, so he did as any guy looking to lighten the mood would- he cracked a mild joke. "Just don't let on to Maggie or the other girls about your Cybertronian bonding love stuff- you'd put all the rest of us men to shame."

"From what I have observed of the liaisons between yourself and Maggie, she is thoroughly enamoured with you," Ironhide assured.

Epps laughed. "That's a relief, 'cause I sure am enamoured with her." Maybe it was the whole sci-fi factor surrounding their relationship, or perhaps it was the funny little smile she gave him when she saw him come into a room, but he had never felt quite _this _way about a woman before. He gave his head a good shake, a half-smile turning his lips up as he cast his gaze upwards to the pinpricks of light that served as Ironhide's optics. "I'd wager what I got for Mags is nothing compared to what you have for your mate, though. She's gotta be something special for you to sign on for all that. Hell, she's gotta be some kind of wicked special to put up with _you_ for so long."

A sudden grin broke out across the mech's faceplate, barking a laugh at Epps' jibe. "She is a spitfire," he admitted warmly, his optics warming as fond memories surfaced. He wished there was an adequate translation of her designation to give them, but nothing sounded true enough to her nature. "I would not trade her love for the universe."

"You're a real closet-romancer, aren't you, 'Hide?" Epps needled, seamlessly slipping from concerned-friend mode to teasing guy. "Who would'a thought the tin man had a heart- ah, spark."

"Tell anyone and they'll never believe you," the weapons specialist said smugly. He was a firm believer in his own reputation.

"Mech's gotta point," Will shrugged to Epps, wandering back to the giant wrench to shoulder his prototype gun once more. "Now that we got this heart-to-spark thing out of the way, how's about we do something manly, like firing off a couple rounds of these babies? I wanna know what kind of firepower they're packing."

Ironhide nodded, rising from his seat and gesturing to the forgotten markers at the far end of his warehouse. "The targets are over there- do your worst."

Soon the half-light of the makeshift armoury was shattered by the high-intensity brightness of the magnesium-burn lasers, the smell of burning metal hot in their noses and the shriek of super-heated air crackling in their ears. Will's prototype tended to shoot too low, while Epps kept getting knocked to the ground by an overenthusiastic recoil. Ironhide offered to show them how it was done, picking up his own prototype and setting it to its lowest setting. Taking aim, he submitted a single shot- and managed to blow the whole wall out.

Will cleared his throat, trotting to the edge of the table to get a better look at the smoking wreckage. "Well, good news is- you hit _all_ the targets."

"Congrats," Epps snorted.

Ironhide huffed, refusing to look embarrassed. The wall could easily be fixed with a few quick welds. Before more ribbing or shooting could take place, an open comm. fizzed to life in the mech's head, silent to the pair of humans. Blaster's voice echoed merrily over the channel.

"_**Hey, everyone, I'd suggest y'all get ta the command centre right now! You're never gonna guess who's finally calling in!"**_

Ironhide growled, sore for the interruption. Aside from the wall thing, he was having a rather enjoyable time. **"This better be good, Blaster."**

Taking note of the use of Cybertronian, the humans easily surmised that the mech was talking on a private channel. They powered down their weapons to allow for a quieter exchange. If they had been privy to the conversation, they would have heard Blaster's knowing laughter as he spoke.

"_**Better than good, 'Hide. I'd expect you'd want ta get yer aft in here now, seeing as it's your sparkmate coming ta call."**_

The sudden thrill that pierced Ironhide cut him straight to the core. Chromia was coming to call? Every ounce of energon in his frame felt like it suddenly turned to ice, his spark frozen with surprise. There was a smattering of happy noise from other mechs on the open channel, but they were scarcely heard. In fact, all noise that was not the sound of Chromia's designation ceased to be heard by Ironhide.

_Chromia. _

In the span of an astrosecond, he found his energon alive again. Boiling. His spark blazed so hot it seared the inside of his sparkcase. A thousand thoughts erupted in his mind, all of them colliding in the sudden fission of prickling awareness of every single moving molecule in the room. There was no thought moving his frame as he bolted for the door. No thought was necessary. Only need. Only desire. His other half was calling out to him and he'd be damned to deny it. It was an extreme effort to force his vocal processor to work.

"**I'll be right there,"** he rumbled. **"Tell her to wait."**

High noon hit him with a throbbing wave of sunlight and heat as he exited the armoury. A few shouts from scattering humans in the way did nothing to break the mech's concentration, nor did the noise cover Blaster's amused reply.

"_**Believe me, Hide, she ain't goin' nowhere 'til she sees ya."**_

That only seemed to throw fuel on the ever-growing inferno raging within him. For his own sanity, he closed out of the channel. It was safer to have his thoughts to himself in case he accidentally transmitted what he was thinking. While most of it was sheer screaming need to simply see, hear, touch, feel his mate, there were far more torrid thoughts running as undercurrent. An eternity without the touch of his lover and he was trembling right down to his protoform for the barest trace of her presence.

It didn't even occur to him that he had left Will and Epps without a second thought. Not that ether human had any intention of being left behind. From the intense look that had come over the mech's faceplate the second before he stormed from the warehouse, they were hell-bent on following to make sure nothing was wrong. For all they knew, there could have been a Decepticon attack, or Wheeljack had managed to collapse a section of the Autobots' subterranean facilities.

The far outskirts of the base where Ironhide's collective warehouses laid were too far from the command center for his liking. After a few long strides that didn't carry him far enough, he transformed, engine roaring as he took off in a billow of raised dust. The bite of the wind against his flanks made him feel alive, the mentioning of Chromia making his entire being feel sensitized. He swung into the building housing the command center, narrowly missing Perceptor's insectoid presence as he made his way out the tall door. Thankfully, quick reflexes had both of them leaping in opposite directions to avoid a collision. In less than a breem, though it felt like joors, Ironhide swarmed into the main command room like a black storm cloud roaring thunder.

Air sucked in sharply through his intakes. There she was, larger than life on the grainy view screen. He didn't have a spark resonance to confirm it, but the sudden roaring in his audios, the lash of blue lightening that licked from his chest, told him all that he needed to know.

"_Chromia,"_ he croaked, rushing for the screen.

Blaster spun around from the controls he was manning, about to shout a greeting, only to see several tons of metal barreling towards him.

"Whoa! Hey! Watch yourself, Ironhide!" In a flurry of red arms and legs, the poor microbot attempted to squirrel out of the way. He wasn't fast enough by far, Ironhide's thick arm sweeping out to clear the entire control panel of everything that got between him and his mate. Blaster squawked loudly as he went flying, though thankfully was stopped by a very kind wall, sliding down to an even more considerate cold floor, where he landed in an awkward bundle of limbs. Having suffered worse treatment, the communications officer picked himself up, brushed himself off, and gave an indignant snort. "I **told** you she wasn't goin' nowhere, ya half-bit!"

As expected, he was ignored.

All that mattered was reaching for the femme on the other side of the screen as she reached back. A single fragile glass screen and thousands of miles worth of distance barred their hands from touching. That didn't stop arcs of wild energy from flying from their sparks with the perceived contact. They could almost imagine the touch of their mate; blunt, pockmarked fingers touching long, sharp claw-tipped digits. The screen fizzled as it received several energy surges, the image breaking into static.

Blaster was instantly on the control panel again, racing to correct the problem while Chromia spun around and starting barking orders on her side of the transmission. When static did not consume the speakers, he heard her sweet, sharp candescence ringing true. There was not a finer balm in all the universe than his mate swearing and giving orders.

Finally, the image stabilized, and both Ironhide and Chromia managed to back up a step so as not to disrupt the transmission again. When another arc of uncontrolled energy rolled off Ironhide, almost brushing Blaster as it dissipated in the air, the microbot shrunk away, uncomfortable to be caught between such an intimate exposure.

Chromia made a soft keening noise, her sharp fingers tracing every detail of Ironhide's faceplate. Her optics darted to every new nook and cranny, memorizing the crooked bend to one of his crests, the crushed condition of his right optic. Her closeness, only as far away as the moon, allowed for the intensity of her emotions to spill over through their bond. A rush hit them both as the astral connection between them became vividly alive, rainbows of sensation erupting in them when they realized they could _feel_ each other again.

The sudden surge that rushed them both made their optics cross, their worlds going fuzzy with the sweet ecstacy. It wasn't just lust that drove them to this frenzy, though they'd be damned to say they weren't the least bit horny. It was a deeper sense of urgency drove their sparks, beyond the physical, beyond instinctual. As Ironhide had explained earlier to his human companions, he and Chromia where two halves of one whole. What they felt now was the driving need to complete that bond. They needed to feel whole again.

"_Primus, I swear, if I was there right now, you'd be on your back right now and I'd be shooting open your chassis,"_ Chromia announced, knowing there was no need for fancy words between them. Getting right to the point had always been their style, and she doubted that had changed in the last eon.

Something like a gravelled groan passed Ironhide's mouthplates. "You wouldn't have to shoot them open, femme- they'd be open even before you touched me." Primus, he'd be the one pinning her down if they were in the same room. Damn everyone else to the pit, they'd bond right in front of every damn Autobot on the planet if it meant they could have each other again.

A vitalized laugh rang from Chromia, optics flashing brightly. There was a fevered look about her, a desperation that drove her movement much the same way as they drove Ironhide's. _"You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again," _she said, thoroughly meaning every word.

"And you have no idea how good it is to see you again," he replied in kind. While she had reformatted in the time they had been apart, she was still the femme he had fallen in love with and bonded to. Her frame was just as tall, though the armour had been trimmed down from its powerful bulk to a newer, sleeker design, the angles and welding updated to the latest in protective measures. Her head was streamlined, faceplate narrowed to a design that was very much avian in nature, like a falcon's. No matter, the dusky-blue of her paint and the smouldering fire of her optics all but screamed of Chromia's essence.

"_I want to see you in person,"_ she groaned, daring to touch the screen again. It wavered into static, followed by a hissed curse, and then she drew away.

"Soon," he told her, the pure truth of the single word penetrating them both deeply. "Soon. You're close to Earth, aren't you? We'll find a good place for you to land and I'll be there the moment you get off the ship."

Chromia's mouthplates trembled, her optics flickering. For a moment, it looked as if she were going to break down at the mere prospect of being on the same planet as her mate. She was stronger than that, though, and she had her pride. Sucking in a hard drag of air, she straightened her spinal column, thrusting out her chest. _"You better be there when I land or, so help me, I'll beat the living slag out of you." _

Primus, even her threats were a turn on right now.

"Don't worry, I intend to thoroughly enjoy stripping your paint off you when I have my way with you. You won't have a flake worth of blue on your back."

The thought of that was more than welcome on her part. "_I'll have you seeing stars,"_ her purred challengingly.

A deep growl rumbled through him, heating his insides. "Not before I have you passing out first."

Poor Blaster, while utterly happy for the sparkmates to be reunited, wished to the pit and back that he could have been anywhere else but manning the controls. His audio receptors swivelled downwards, antennae withdrawing into his head as he tried desperately to block out the growl of dirty promises. There were some mental images he was never going to unsee. He might have laughed if it was any other mech spouting violent sweet nothings to his equally volatile mate, but seeing as the risk of being hit again was pretty high with Ironhide, Blaster remained silent.

A muted swish of air announced Optimus's entrance, followed closely by Bumblebee on his heels. Curiosity drew Mirage along mere astroseconds after them, while Bluestreak happily trotted in a breem or so later, chatting to the pair of human he'd picked up along the way. Will and Epps looked relieved to have been taken pity on and hopped a lift, though Bluestreak's non-stop chatter had them wishing they were deaf. Oddly, Mirage exchanged sharp looks with Blaster and Bluestreak, discreetly nodding to Prime. They instantly understood that this encounter might very well be the one that revealed all they had kept from Optimus. They were alert for anything that might happen during the exchange.

"**Have we missed much?"** Optimus enquired to the little communications officer, oblivious to the silent exchange.

"**Nothing ya wouldn't want ta delete anyways,"** Blaster replied, forcing a laugh. With Will and Epps settled on the balcony wrapping around the room, he waved to catch their attention, and then indicated to the nearest small console up there. Indulging in his own distraction so he didn't have to feel guilty over the lies of omission he had submitted to Optimus, Blaster quickly began transcribing a rapidly translated script of what was being said in Cybertronian so the humans didn't miss anything. Surprised by the gesture, they mouthed their thanks, which was returned with a thumbs up.

While Ironhide remained stubbornly fixated on his mate, Chromia detected movement behind him and looked up, spying a full command centre. Her gaze locked immediately with Optimus's, recognizing the Prime with staunch clarity. A strange glint entered her gaze, a strange play of emotions; surprise, caution, guardedness, and the finally a smidgeon of guilt. Ironhide felt it, though did not voice his confusion over such a reaction.

"_**Optimus Prime,"**_ she greeted, inclining her head.

"**Chromia, I presume?"** Optimus intoned with a nod of his head. Unlike Ironhide, he was not gifted with the extra sense to identify the femme no matter the frame she inhabited.

"_**Yes,"**_ she breathed.

"**Has your journey been well?"** Prime enquired diplomatically. He had so many questions, though it felt best to start with the small pleasantries.

"_**No, it's been arduous and painful, but seeing that big lug right there is making it all damn worth it for me,"**_ she replied. _**"Give me clearance to land this pile of slag and I'll go through it all again just to get my hands on him."**_

"**You haven't changed a bit,"** Optimus said. "**I empathize your need to see Ironhide. To see Elita One would mean the moon and stars to me."**

"_**I can imagine,"**_ she said, her tone uncharacteristically wavering. Even her short exchange with him made her antsy. Her gazed moved to each faceplate present, surprise lighting her features as she settled on the openly searching faceplate of Bumblebee. He was still as adorable as the day he'd left Cybertron, though bearing new marks of war.

"**Hello, Chromia,"** the scout chirped sweetly, leaning up in hopes to catch sight of a certain femme in the frame.

"_**Well, well, it's good to see and hear you, little Bumblebee,"**_ Chromia greeted warmly, surprised to hear Bumblebee's voice. She half expected his vocal processor to still be damaged. By the breathless sound of recognition, Arcee knew the scout's voice as well. Her flashing fingers stalled over the panel she was diligently working at, air stuttering in her vents. Ignoring her charge's overreaction, Chromia's indulgent smile widened on the yellow minibot. _**"I bet I know who you're looking for,"**_ she laughed.

Bumblebee recognized his own eagerness, reigning it in. **"Arcee's not with you, is she?"** he enquired as he stretched to the top of his struts to see over Ironhide.

"_**Oh yes, she's here,"**_ Chromia replied, though a hissed _**"No I'm not!"**_ could not be missed over the speakers.

Bumblebee faltered, his doorwings sagging. **"She doesn't want to see me?"**

"_**I think it's more the other way around, brightspark," **_The femme sighed.

"_**Don't tell him that!" **_Arcee snapped.

_**"She's a little sensitive right now- it might take a bit for her to warm up," **_Chromia explained.

_**"You go warm up in the pit- I don't want to be seen!" **_Someone scrambled off-screen, metal rattling weakly.

Bumblebee frowned even deeper.** "She's not still mad at me for not backing her up against Patchwork at Epsilon, is she? I said I was sorry." **

Chromia made a stubborn noise, though it was directed at someone off-screen. _**"No, not that. One second- she'll be right here to see you."**_ She disappeared to the right, her voice carrying as she spoke with the hiding femme accompanying her on the _Loki_'s bridge. _**"He's not going to care what you look like. You're still the same femme you were the orn he left-."**_

"_**For Primus sake, put me the frag down! Chromia! I'm not a youngling!" **_

The dusky blue femme returned with something in her arms. It was not immediately recognizable to any of the present _Ark_ crew, though everyone else cringed. Carefully, Chromia dropped the struggling grey bundle into the nearest available seat, arranging the creature so that it had no choice but to look at the active view screen.

Ice slipped down into Bumblebee's spark as he took in the bundle of bolts and wires. **"Arcee?"** he murmured, jumping when the ragged creature went rigid, her optics turning to pure venomous ire.

"_**Bumblebee,"**_ she managed to spit grittily.

A stunned silence reigned in the command center as the Ark crew attempted to fathom what abomination had consumed the pretty little femme they remembered. Bumblebee most of all looked struck, his frame unmoving as he stared in helpless plight to the femme who glared defiant pit-fire back at him.

In quick order, the door to the commander center hissed open once more to admit the newly arrived Ratchet and Wheeljack. The engineer was laughing at something, sporting a proud new scuff mark on his cranium for something, though he fell silent when his gaze alighted on Arcee.

"**Primus!"** Ratchet exclaimed. He shouldn't have been so surprised to see Arcee as she was, having seen Wheeljack's memories of her, but memories and real life hardly compared. He was not quick enough to disguise the flash of abject shock across his faceplate.

A strangled noise tore from Arcee's vocal processor, throwing off Chromia's steadying hand. Ratchet's outburst was enough to tip the scales for her. She was in no mood to be ogled at like some sideshow freak. In a tottering fashion, she pushed to her feet and dragged herself out of view, intent on locking herself away where no one would stare..

"_**Careful of that arm! I just wired it in!"**_ Chromia called after her.

"_**I know the drill already!"**_ the little femme spat savagely. Betrayal brewed bitterly in her voice. She wanted to say more, maybe swear at her keeper for dumping her in front of everyone like that, dumping her in front of Bumblebee, but anger prevented formal words from forming. She stalked from the room with nothing more than a furious hiss following her.

Once gone, Chromia sighed, sagging into the recently vacated seat. _**"As you saw, that was Arcee,"**_ she informed. _**"What's become of her, anyways…" **_

Bumblebee took a step back, momentarily horror-struck, and then found himself and stepped back up to the screen. **"Is she okay?"** he asked sincerely.

Chromia smiled sadly. _**"That's the first time anyone's ever seen her and not asked what's wrong with her,"**_ she said. To indulge the question, she shook her head. _**"Arcee is… very sick, if it wasn't obvious enough."**_ Her optics darted curiously to Mirage and the others. _**"I would have thought you'd be informed of all the usual gossip by now."**_

Optimus sent a sharp look to Mirage, the one who _should_ have been the first to inform him of anything prudent, and the one most likely of orchestrating with fellow Autobots to withhold particular information. The Master Spy did not deny the accusing stare, choosing to bow to Prime's will with a burdened bow of his head instead. _I will speak with you later _rang as a silent threat between them.

"**Tell me what happened to her,"** Optimus ordered, waiting freely for anyone to answer since it seemed so many had chosen to leave him out of the loop. The disregard burned him.

Ironhide clenched and unclenched his fists, reminded that the creature responsible for Arcee's original affliction resided on the planet currently.

The warrior femme hesitated, feeling the roiling churn of her mate's spark. Her hand came to her chassis as a physical acknowledgement of it. "_**It was the antivirus that did it to her,"**_ she sighed. _**"It really was a cure for the Alpha-class, but it was also was a Trojan for another virus. We've never seen anything like it. It's just been destroying her a little bit at a time, and there's been nothing anyone can do for her. She's been falling apart since then."**_

"**By the looks of her, she might not have much time left," **Ratchet conceded.

Bumblebee made a weak twittering noise, looking lost as he rocked unsurely on his feet. Optimus reached out for him, but the scout ducked out of reach, running for the door when he was unable to make sense of the running thoughts in his processor.

"_**I'll go after him,"**_ Bluestreak quipped, making a hasty exit.

Optimus watched as the light-grey sniper trooped after the scout, feeling the tug to follow. He resisted. There were far more important things to see to at the moment. Ironhide reminded him of that as he spoke-

"**You've had some of the brightest minds in the universe working for you in the Autobots. Haven't they been able to do anything for her? Perceptor, Jetfire, even First Aid; did they all suddenly forget how to treat a patient?" **He those old protective feelings he had for his ex-apprentice were coming back in a rush, enhanced by Chromia's intense feelings for the broken femme.

"_**What can be done for her is limited. When we can't even interface with her without the virus melting something down, it's all just guesswork. When a limb falls off, we attach a new one. That's all we **_**can**_** do. Now it's just a waiting game until something important falls off, like her head," **_Chromia sighed morbidly.

Optimus frowned pensively, a sudden dangerous thought striking him. **"There is the possibility of help, though," **he broached.

Chromia's optics flashed, the view screen fizzling out as she rushed it with too much enthusiasm. Her voice crackled, but it came though the static okay- _**"How, Prime? If there was nothing for her on Cybertron, what could Earth do for her?"**_

"**Earth's got a lot of potential, y'know," **Wheeljack intoned lightly. Chromia shot him a dirty look, under the impression that he was still crazy and thus an annoyance to be ignored.

Optimus nodded in agreement with the engineer's assessment. **"The planet does offer many options that had not been open to us on Cybertron. Currently residing on the planet is a viral specialist who I might be able to contact-."**

"**No way in the pit!"** Ironhide suddenly exploded, knowing exactly who Prime was thinking of.

"**You can't be serious, Prime!"** Mirage exclaimed.

"**I am serious."** Optimus stated darkly. This was not a time for lax command, and the insult handed to him by his own bots made his words sharper than they ought to have be. He turned back to Chromia, looming starkly. **"If the possibility existed that Arcee could be examined by someone familiar with the inner workings of viruses, would you allow it? No matter past transgressions?" **

Chromia steeled herself against Ironhide's blazing glare. _**"If it was to save Arcee, I'd do anything." **_

"**Then I will see if something can be arranged," **Prime conceded. **"It will also have to be arranged that you land close to here so as to cut down on strain on Arcee's condition. You cannot land in the Nevadan desert, but an appropriate landing site will be found as soon as possible." **

For the first time since they entered the room, the humans made themselves known, one of them calling out as he read a particular passage in the transcription of the conversation.

"You need a place to land near here?" Will asked.

Ironhide started, looking up to find his human friends leaning over the balcony. He wondered when they had arrived.

"Yes, do you have a suggestion?" Optimus intoned.

"My land," Will offered firmly. "It's not much, but California isn't that far from here, and it is out of the way. I have plenty of old farmland in the middle of nowhere, hopefully enough to conceal a ship landing. If you need a place, it's all yours."

Chromia crowded close to the screen to get a good look at the alien. "That's very kind of you, Earthling," she said, modulating her voice to be a throaty, warm tone.

Will smiled warmly, rather proud to be able to help Ironhide's mate. "It's no problem. Anything to help."

Ironhide swelled proudly. "Thank you, Will."

"It's settled then, you will be sent coordinates to land on Will's property as soon as we can ascertain an appropriate landing site," Optimus said.

"Please make it quick," Chromia implored, for both Arcee's sake and her own.

Ratchet scanned the empty bridge behind the femme with a curious look. He switched back to Cybertronian for ease of communication. **"Where is Prowl? I would have thought being present for something of this magnitude would be the most logical course of actions" **Though, it could have been a blessing in disguise.

"_**He is indisposed at the moment,"**_ Chromia informed flatly.

Ratchet raised an enquiring optic ridge.

The femme made a displeased noise. _**"It is best you see him for yourself when we land. He has locked himself away in his quarters until he can get his faculties in order, which may be a while."**_

"**I see,"** the CMO murmured. He looked back to Wheeljack, as if confirming a worst case scenario. Steeling himself for possibly the worst news of all, he asked, **"And where are the Twins, dare I ask?" **

"_**Outside," **_the femme informed with a flick of her hand. _**"The ship's communications are unreliable at best, so they are manually seeing to the array." **_And to prove it, the screen fuzzed over again, losing the femme in the static. They could just make out her shouting at bots responsible as they fooled around with their task. Blaster abandoned transcribing in order to try and make the connection better on their end. For an astrosecond, the screen cleared enough to hear Sideswipe's voices ringing over the comms in the _Loki._

"_**Sunny put his foot through an energy distributer! You're about to lose-."**_

The lights on the bridge suddenly powered down.

"_**-lights."**_

Chromia growled, glaring at the view screen. _**"This was the only ship available when we got your call, Optimus," **_she said, almost like she was apologizing for the fact. _**"It hasn't been easy."**_

"**It never was with the twins," **Ratchet said.

"_**I'll sign off now before someone puts their foot through something else," **_the femme said, releasing a long sigh. _**"Contact us the moment you have coordinates. I want to be off this ship as soon as possible." **_Her claws drew to the screen, reaching for Ironhide once more, tracing down the side of his faceplate through the screen. Ironhide could almost feel the ghost of her touch, tasting the intent richly. _**"We will be in contact soon," **_she assured.

Ironhide reached back, touching the tips of her fingers and imaging the light tickle those sharp points would offer. **"I can hardly wait." **

The image wavered, though it was hard to decide whether it was from the lashes of blue lightning that erupted from the sparkmates or from the twins' continued antics. In the background, muffled thumping along the topside of the hull could be heard. The pain Ironhide and Chromia revealed on their faceplates at the prospect of saying goodbye again, even if it was only for a short while, was enough to hurt the sparks of everyone else. Optimus couldn't even bare to look at them, his hands clenching at his sides. He shouldn't have been jealous or upset, not of his closest friend finally getting what he deserved. He missed his own sparkmate, though. When would it be his turn to see Elita One?

"**Chromia," **Prime ventured just as the channel was to be closed.

"_**Yes, Prime?" **_

"**Elita One… have you seen her recently? Would you know if she would be arriving soon?" **

With that simple question, all the air in the room was sucked out. Chromia appeared frozen, stuck at forming words that would be of some solace to the great leader. Mirage made a cursing noise, confirming that he once again had a hand in concealing more information from the Prime. Ratchet went rigid, unprepared for Optimus to ask the question and wholly ill-equipped to deal with the consequences right that very moment. Even the humans shifted unsurely, not completely sure what was going on, but made uncomfortable from the tension.

"_**Optimus…" **_

"**What is it?" **

The dusky-blue femme heaved a pained sigh. _**"Elita hasn't been seen since Iacon fell. We thought she was dead until we received your transmission and knew you were alive."**_ It was hard for her to speak. Elita had been her best friend, and Optimus had always been such a kind spark. The _wrongness_ of the situation struck her hard. _**"The thing is... we don't know where she is." **_

Before she could apologize for such terrible news, a particularly loud thump rattled the metal of the hull, and then the communications hub went out completely.

Optimus was left standing as no more than a statue, his insides frigid with the new truth sinking into him. _They didn't know where Elita One was. _Did that mean the attacks he'd been having, the immense waves of pain in his spark, hadn't just been anomalies after all? Was his mate truly suffering somewhere?

Ironhide tore himself away from the blank screen, Optimus's plight far greater than his own. He reached for the towering mech, only to find his friend jerked away. There was no heat in the Prime's stare as he gazed about the assembled Autobots in the command center. Betrayal spoke volumes in his unfathomably deep optics. Of all the bots to make it to Earth, not one of them had whispered a word of this to him. Not a word. Not a warning. A guilt that soured the energon in their lines rose among the gathered Autobots, those responsible for the lies of omission casting their optics to the floor, while Ironhide suffered the guilt of a mech who had his spark's desire while his best friend went without. He reached for Optimus again, finding the flame-painted mech take a jerking step back, then another, finding the thought of staying in the room suddenly sickening.

"**I… will be in my quarters. No one disturb me,"** Optimus ordered, cutting a sharp path to the exit.

Despite the order, Ironhide shot the assembled Autobots a blazing glare before following.

* * *

Unlike the blaze of the desert that stayed dry even during the winter months, the northern side of the border yielded a far colder and wetter season as December set in. Particularly in the area the Decepticon-Neutrals claimed as their own, the weather was volatile, quick to change, and vehement when driven by the power of the looming body of the Atlantic Ocean. When the sun did shine, it was a bleak, white light that did not cast warmth on the land. Sadly, the sun was a rare occasion. The days were short, and the yellow star was rarely seen through the thick blanket of clouds that perpetually encased the sky. December nights were worst still; frigidly cold, and only to grow colder as January approached. Frost crept across the hull of the _Darksyde_, chilled patterns of ice slicking its way inside, crawling up the walls and freezing the floors. Even a single joor of recharge brought a layer of ice to a bot, onlining to find their frame encased in a thin sheet of frost, and in some cases, frozen to the berth itself.

It was not the cold that bothered them, though. Cybertron, with its far greater distance from its sun, had been much colder. It was the insistent precipitation that persisted everywhere that bothered the aliens. It was what the ice formed from, how the snow accumulated, where the clouds came from. Moisture laid everywhere in a nightmarish landscape. There was no escaping it no matter where they went. The only defence they had was the _Darksyde_'s internal heating and dehumindfier, which Soundwave had worked on diligently until the ancient components were capable of staving off most of the cold and wetness. The systems were not perfect, but far better than nothing.

In a move they had not been expecting, a convoy from the Canadian government had arrived a few weeks prior. They were heavily armed in a range of armoured vehicles and weaponry, but their intent had been surprisingly benign. They knew the region's weather patterns better than the Cybertronians and were fully aware of the damages the season was capable of wreaking on all mechanical devices, or mechanical persons as the case stood. Taking their Neutral claim in faith, the small convoy of human soldiers had unloaded three trucks' worth of supplies they thought might be useful to the Cybertronians, including barrels of antifreeze, road salt and de-icer, plus ropes and tarps to protect their ship from the storms, and even industrial-sized padded moving blankets they could use for warmth if they wanted. Knowing such supplies were undoubtedly going to be needed in the coming months, Soundwave had been smart enough not to decline. However, when the offer to route the snowploughs to them for better access to the roads came up, it was dismissed. The more remote they remained, the less likely their discovery by civilians would be.

For Decepticons such as themselves, the gestures by the humans in light of their new "neutrality" was confusing, though more so disturbing if anything. Soundwave was the only mech to interact verbally with the soldiers while they had been there, though Trojan and Worm had curiously shown their support through helping to carry supplies. The symbiotes only assisted because they had been ordered to, mocking the humans silently as they did so. The remains of the _Darksyde_ crew drew as far away from the alien displays of hospitality as possible.

In the torrent of a late mid-December night storm, the generosity of the humans was not to be mocked anymore. Sleet and hail pinged exposed sections of the rusted hull, gathering in the dips where the tarps bowed. Icy wet snow flung in clumps to the ground as if the sky were furious for some ungodly deed, and the raging black water of the ocean cast frozen, salty sprays over the cliffs, the roar of the crashing tide on the rocks deafening.

Soundwave absorbed the night with aloof distance, sitting hunched under the protective overhang offered by the _Darksyde_'s underbelly. There was no light to see by, but he was hardly blind. A quick adjustment to his optics brought the rage of the night into focus, watching his symbiotes as they ran about the storm with abandon. High above the clouds, away from the throes of the storm, Nightshade circled, preferring the clarity and serenity of the moonlight to the chaos of the ice storm. While no snow had thought to invade the underside of the ship, several tarps were spread out for Soundwave nonetheless, and Laserbeak and Ratbat had insisted that their master have at least one large blanket to cover his lap with so that his leg joints did not ice up. As they had discovered in Rumble's case, chopping the ice out of someone's joints was unpleasant for both the afflicted and the bot doing the chopping.

A battle cry whooped nearby as laserfire lit the night, shooting down a snowball. Rumble tumbled into sight, a tattered tarp slung around him to keep freezing sleet out. Frenzy was not far behind, a lumpy grey blanket with its stuffing oozing out tied around his shoulders, soaking wet from play. They had somehow goaded Ravage into having a snowball fight, which only continued to grow in intensity as Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ratbat joined the fray. Each of them were wrapped protectively in some sort of gear to keep their systems somewhat free of ice. Some of them had even had the foresight to dip into the antifreeze. Flashes of bright optics and weapons fire dotted the night, broken by taunts and wails as snowballs and chunks of ice launched through the air. Despite the craze, the night was strangely peaceful.

From behind him, the array lights along the hull flickered to life, the hatch cracking open and falling to the frozen ground with a bang. Two thick looming figures slowly trudged out, dragging behind them a great lump of black metal that screeched at it moved, long claws and teeth hooked into the floor in attempts to prevent being moved. Down the ramp they came, dragging their reluctant victim until they came to Soundwave's side. In quick order, they adjusted Virus on a thick gathering of tarps in what they hoped was a comfortable position. From their subspace pockets, both Trojan Horse and Worm drew a stash of ratty blankets, which they proceeded to wrap the quadruped in. Virus made no acknowledgement of the fussing, her dull red optics staring straight ahead with no more life in them than shards of glass.

Once done, Worm tapped Soundwave's large hand, peering into the mech's optics with a question prevalent in his gaze.

"I shall take care of her," Soundwave assured, finding the statement strangely ironic. It was enough to comfort the two mute mechs as they wandered back into the _Darksyde_ to conduct further repairs where they thought it was needed. With them gone, the Neutral commander gazed down at the figure he had summoned; she had only worsened in condition despite her cohorts best efforts. The program that drove her unconditional worship of Megatron was destroying her inside and out. Curiously, he noted a new feature to her normally grotesque shape that seemed oddly befitting of the human season. A crown of evergreen boughs had been carefully weaved for her, lovingly placed atop the jutting crests of her head and festooned with metal poinsettias fashioned from rusted panels. A sentimental gift from Worm and Trojan no doubt, possibly in hopes to raise Virus's spirits. They probably would have been better off gathering roadkill and stringing that from her head.

Virus made a grunting noise, tipping her head down in order to snatch the wreath. Soundwave suffered a moment of regret when he thought the beast was about to shred the gift, only to find himself surprised when she pushed it into the protective overhang of her barrel chest, folding her forelegs over it so that the wind did not sweep it away. It seemed Virus's spark was not as shut off as everyone believed.

"Why have you dragged me out here, Soundwave?" she asked flatly, voice lacking in life or inflection.

"The Autobots have contacted me with a request," he stated. It was of greater curiosity that it had been Ratchet to contact him, not Optimus Prime.

"Again?"

"Yes."

"They ask too much and pay too little. You should know better than to conduct business with them." A resentful glare was cast his way. "This has nothing to do with me, so why bring me out here?"

"On the contrary, the request requires your specific skills."

For the first time in a long time, an emotion flittered through the beast. Hot stubbornness. "No." she spat.

He sighed, all his vents issuing great clouds of ghostly steam into the start atmosphere. "They have outlined that they are willing to pay."

"No."

"You are not even willing to consider it?"

A terrible noise emanated from Virus, a deep noise of festering disgust that had fermented over eons. "What is there to consider? They killed Lord Megatron. They can rot for all I care."

"Even when they are willing to pay anything?"

The offer caught her attention. Weak air in her intakes rattled, a rusted noise grating from her insides. Optics flashed with sudden clarity, gaze swinging beyond the cliffs to the fury of the black, icy ocean wherein the grave of her lord and master lied.

"Anything?" she repeated quietly, tasting the possibilities of the word.

"Anything."

A long paused ensued, one in which Virus could not bare to tear her optics away from the grave of ice and cold where her master laid. She did not even notice when the dark trees to her left bent and bowed as Barricade and Flamewar pressed their way into the clearing, intent on finding respite from the storm after their rampant activities together. Barricade had several tarps tied to him to stave off the storm. Soundwave curiously noted that even Flamewar donned human-esque attire in the form of a cloak fashioned from blankets, hooked in the front by a single lovingly crafted clasp Barricade had undoubted invested joors in making. Perhaps the only reason she wore the thing was to satisfy her mate's desire to keep her safe and well. They stopped their trek to the ship when they detected Soundwave and Virus's presence under it, deciding that getting onto the _Darksyde_ wasn't worth the trouble of passing them. They disappeared back into the woods. Virus was none the wiser.

_Anything_, the Autobots said. _Anything_. And suddenly her spark's desire was within reach. She turned to regard Soundwave once more, her optics suddenly more alive than they had been in a very long time.

"Very well. Contact the Autobots and inform them that they have a deal."


	33. They Can Feel the Love Tonight

**Flameshield**- What Virus wishes for payment is nothing less than what reality will grant as her deepest, darkest desire. As for Ironhide and Chromia… They'll make good on each and every one of those lovely threats. xD

**Kittisbat- **You must be a wonderously perceptive reader, my dear. There is indeed something coming, and I would welcome any and all guesses, theories, and/or hypothesis of what it may be, no matter how crazy. :)

**Violetlight- **Thanks so much~ It was a lot of fun writing Ironhide's exchange with the humans.^^ Yeah, the 'Cons get ignored, which is my fault, but as the story progresses, it will become quite impossible to ignore them.

**CoalTreasure- **Haha, here's the next chapter, my friend. Sadly, I can't reveal the future of Jazz's fate.

**Chloo- ***sigh* Why do I always feel like a better writer after reading one of your reviews? You're such a kind readers, thank you so much for your consideration of this story. And, yes, I have been doing some editing here and there. I'm prone to sprucing things up once in a while. ^^;

**Jason M. Lee- **Pain is the name of the game, at least where Virus is concerned…

**Theshadowcat- **"Anything within reason" would have been more sensible, surely, but then where would the story be if everyone acted sensible?

**Bluebird Soaring- **Your wish has been answered, my friend. I wasn't thinking about showing the pep talk between Optimus and Ironhide, but seeing as you're one of my favourite reviewers, I wrote the first scene with you in mind.^^

**Elita One- **Don't worry, my friend. The _Loki_ will be landing sooner than you may think.^^

**Silveriss- **Thank you so much for the kind praise~ It means a lot.^^

**Independent.C.- **My oh my, you're awfully perceptive of the story, aren't you? I'm delighted by your guesses, but only time will tell if they will come to fruition.

**CuteKitten- **Sadly, the Loki will not be landing this chapter. A few other things happen, but fear not! Everything will happen in due time, my friend.^^

**Pheonix13- **Oh, it's been so long since I've heard from you! What a delight to know you're still a reader! :D I'm so humbled that you liked the last chapter; you're right, Optimus does deserve Elita, and soon. Hopefully I can make it that way from him.

**Lady Tecuma- **D'awww, you're a sweetheart, Tecuma! *hugs* What you say means a lot, but you're just as good a writer as I am! Readers love your stories! :)

**Litahatchee- **Oh, my dear, my dear, how close I am to singing right now~ You are such a sweetheart for not only leaving one review, but _two_~! And on top of that, you helped get me in the groove to finish this bloody monstrosity! I dedicate this chapter to you out of your sheer awesomeness! :D There's something extra special about you, hun~ You're such a star! *hugs*

**Balrog Roike- **Perhaps they will learn, but it may be a slow and arduous lesson for life to offer.

**Lecidre- **Ah, my dearest friend, you're right about one thing- there is going to be a great amount of trouble when Virus comes on to the scene… Haha! More Ironhide and Chromia hot sex is bound for the future! Just a little longer and your hard drive will be melting! XD

**Kibble Beast- **lol~ I guess love can even make the mute into poets.^^ Don't worry about the length or quality of the review, my friend, it's the love that counts. :)

**FunkyFish1991**- Haha, yeah, Ironhide really was the right choice for the job, in his grouchy, gruff, loveable kind of way.^^ Whoa, _me_- build _tension_? *gasp* Never! That's would be cruel and unusual! *cue sarcasm* XD

**Nitefyre**- Ah, my friend, you hit the nail on the head. I do so love to play with morality.^^

Special thanks and credits to **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte **and **FunkyFish1991**.^^

**As We Come Together  
In Which They Can Feel the Love Tonight**

He looked… _broken_.

There was no better word to describe what had become of Optimus Prime.

His head tipped back, a metallic _ping!_ ringing off the wall as metal connected with metal. He didn't bother to adjust his optics to the darkness of his room. In truth, he didn't want to see anything at the moment. Nothing but the image of Elita One reflecting in his mind over and over, memories of her haunting every facet of his thoughts; he couldn't see anything but her.

All this time, he'd believed her _safe_. He had convinced himself that his spark had merely ached to see her again. But now… Primus damn him! Now she was in some unknown pit and every possible fate that could have befallen her ran in a continuous loop of torture through his processor. It made his frame shudder, his spark aching tenfold now, withdrawing into a deeper pit of misery he knew would only bring Elita more pain but was too weak to stop himself.

"A damned fool I am," he cursed, listening to the louder _bang!_ of his fist against the berth. He should have known something was wrong! He _should_ have! He was Elita's sparkmate, after all! Somehow, this was his fault.

At the mere thought of his sparkmate suffering, he wished himself dead to end it for her. Curse Primus for letting this happen. Curse his own duties as Prime. If all it took to save her was for him to die, he'd do it in a sparkbeat.

Nausea choked him for even thinking such things. He didn't know which to hate more, him contemplating a graceless suicide, or knowing he was too cowardly deep down to go through with it. His tanks churned even more when he felt the temptations catch on the fraying tangles of his mind.

There came a soft knock at the door, a resonance scan revealing the spark on the other side to be Ironhide's.

"I said for no one to disturb me," Optimus rumbled darkly.

As he was wont to do when it suited him, Ironhide ignored Optimus. The door wasn't locked, so he let himself in. What he was faced with on the other side was not a pleasant sight, no matter how much he had braced himself for it.

"I'm sorry," the weapons specialist announced, not even sure what he was apologizing for. 'Sorry' generally wasn't in his vocabulary, but the way Optimus looked, it made him feel as if he'd done something unforgivable. He didn't even look like himself anymore.

"Leave me, Ironhide," Prime ordered without true conviction.

Again, he was ignored. Instead, Ironhide dared to come closer, placing a thick hand on Optimus's shoulder. "I'm not leaving you like this."

"And what you could possibly do for me by staying?"

The cool bitterness of Optimus's voice left Ironhide's insides icy. He could think of nothing to do for Optimus if he stayed, only knowing that he _needed_ to. In the end, he said, "At least you know she's alive."

"And that's comfort _how_?" Optimus rumbled, optics searching Ironhide's for something he knew he would not find: an answer. Where was Elita One? No one knew. "My Autobots are liars, and they believe me too weak to handle the truth. At least you have Chromia now- she's just beyond the atmosphere for you. You can probably feel her. What do I have?" A hand flew out in an un-Primely violent gesture. "Elita has been missing since _Iacon_, for Primus sake! Everything that I have brushed off as my own conscience torturing me could have been her calling out for help, and I did _nothing_! All this time, Ironhide, and she could have been suffering the worst fates possible! How do I find comfort in anything right now?"

"…I don't know," Ironhide sighed, forced to look away. There was no sense for it, but he felt ashamed. "What the others did, what they kept from you… it was wrong, but their sparks were in the right place."

Optimus snorted obstinately.

"They didn't mean to hurt you."

"They did a good job of it, even if it was not their intention."

A sharp noise issued from Ironhide's vents. "Do you honestly believe any Autobot would wish you harm?"

Optimus remained silent, optics dropping to the berth.

"No, of course not," Ironhide answered for himself. "I can't say what was going on in any of their heads, but I can guess, and my best bet would be that they were waiting for the right time to break it to you. Chromia just got here before they could do that." He laid a hand to Optimus once more, his grip tight. "You are our _Prime_, Optimus; you mean everything to our kind. There isn't an Autobot out there who doesn't owe you their life for something. What they did- they only had you in mind. They might have been trying to protect you.""

Silence permeated from the Prime in heavy waved as he continued to stare unblinking at his weapons specialist. It was then that Ironhide's patience ran out. A small snort of frustration rattled from him.

"I don't what else to offer you other than to say that I'm sorry. _I'm sorry_ Elita One couldn't be on the _Loki_, _I'm sorry_ I have Chromia when you're still waiting. I _hate_ the fact that you still have to hurt and there's nothing I can do to help. But at least Elita is out there, _alive_. She will be found, I'll swear by it. I'll put my spark and Chromia's on the line to say that we'll find Elita One, wherever she is." Even with the words out, irritation still did not wane. It was not in Ironhide's nature to do nothing. He looked to Optimus with a tight expression. "I don't know what else to say to help you. If there was anything to do this very moment, I would do it, I swear, but…"

A small pause of deadened silence flickered between them before Optimus rumbled, "If you have nothing to offer me, then leave me be."

Ironhide stepped away, reigning in the urge to punch Optimus. This was not the time for punching sense into him, nor was it the time to shoot. "It's your right as Prime to order me out, and I'll damn well do it when I'm good and ready, but at least let me say something to you as your friend. No Prime-subordinate rank slag. Just you and me."

Optimus blinked, sighing as if it were a great effort to look Ironhide in the optic. "And what could that be?"

He had to steal himself for his own words, bracing his feet and thrusting his chest out. "That you're proving them right," he said, his deep voice made harsh from frustration. "Hiding in here, moping. You're proving Mirage and the rest of them right, that you _couldn't_ handle the truth. I _know_ it hurts; Primus, I know better than anyone how much it hurts, but mechs like us don't always get the luxury of wallowing in it. You have to somehow stay strong, not just for the Autobots, but for Elita. She's going to need you when she's found. Pit, she needs you now, wherever she is. Slaggit, Optimus, don't prove them right- show them that you're made of stronger stuff. You've always been stronger than me."

The silence that stretched after Ironhide's words carried for a long, unbroken facet of time. For Ironhide, he waited for some kind of response from Optimus. What he said next mattered; it would make or break the moment.

"You're right," Optimus sighed, shoulders drooping. "_You're right_; you know it, I know it…" The heavy weight of the universe resting on him had always been his mantle as Prime. There was no escape from it.

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

"Sit here."

"_Optimus-."_

Prime waved him off with a flick of his hand, a hidden smile ghosting his faceplate. "Give me time to sit here and gather myself before I make an appearance with the rest of the Autotbots. I do not think I am quite ready to face them just yet, but I will be. I'll do as you say, because you are my friend and I trust you." He closed his optics, dragging in a fortifying breath of air to clear his intakes. "You've always had my best interests at spark, my friend, even when I have been unwilling to listen."

"They didn't call me the Prime Protectorate for nothing," Ironhide murmured with muted humour. His actual title during the Golden Age had been Prime Directorate Advisor, but so many had fondly referred to him as the Protectorate.

"And I am not the Prime for nothing," Optimus said, as if he was reminding himself of the title. "I have to be strong for them- for my Autobots, and for Elita." He hated that his voiced wavered even as he spoke of strength. Elita had always been his strength, the one his spark leaned against when it needed true support. "Give me my time here, and I'll be what you need out there."

There was no conviction in Optimus's voice, and it tore Ironhide to the core to know his friend was going to sacrifice his own wellbeing to hold on to an act of decorum. It was a sad truth that the Prime had to come before the mech. Without anything further to say, Ironhide turned to leave, only to pause as he caught a shadow crossing Optimus's faceplate. He and Optimus were of different frame types, forged in different cities from different times, built from different metals, and their sparks were as different as two separate bots could be, but in his friend's faceplate he saw himself reflected. Had Chromia been the one missing, it would have been him crumbling. No, he would have been worse. He would have been shooting something. Hurting something…

"What are you doing?" Optimus enquired as Ironhide reached for him. He did not resist as his interface port was opened, nor did he stop Ironhide as he connected. With no defences in place, Optimus let his friend do as he wished. Brief surprise ghosted through him as he felt his friend accessing all available weaponry systems and locking them down. Connected as they were, Ironhide's thoughts were not as guarded as they usually were. He was openly concerned, letting Optimus know so with clear intention.

Once sure the Prime's weaponry was locked down and coded, he backed away. There was no need for further explanation, except that Optimus's deep optics always made one feel that something had to be said.

"I don't want you getting hurt," he intoned, finding the words strangely awkward.

Whether he was thankful for the consideration or because the choice was no longer his to make, Optimus made no move to indicate either one. His optics warmed fractionally as they regarded his friend's dark form. "Thank you, Ironhide."

A curt nod was his reply, after which he left to assume command until Optimus was ready to join them.

* * *

The lake they had gathered at was as deserted as one would think a lake would be on a cool December evening. The only life forms present were three human teenagers gathered on top of a picnic table, lounging in varying states of comfort. A fourth, much larger mechanical being, reclined comfortably on the ground nearby. A muted murmur of music clung to the empty dry air, almost dashed out by the sounds of conversation as the Cybertronian relayed his life as such in the time he and his alien friends had been apart.

"That's rough, Bumblebee," Sam sighed when an interval came, running his fingers through his hair when he couldn't think of anything more to say. Mikaela and Miles shared similar sentiments, looking solemn as they stared at their feet.

Bumblebee twittered, bracing his weight back on his arms to peer up at the cold quarter moon. "I don't think I have ever seen him quite like this. He hardly speaks to anyone anymore, not even me or Ironhide." A shush of air brushed out his vents, doorwings drooping sadly. Two whole orns since the incident and Optimus was more like a stoic wall around them than the kind light he was before. "What Mirage and the others kept from him really hurt him. I can only guess how betrayed he feels… Pit, even I feel a little betrayed. Mirage is my commander, and he didn't even say a word to me."

Mikaela drew her knees up to her chest, shivering as the night air bit at her exposed flesh. "You two have every right to feel betrayed. If someone kept something like my mate being missing for hundreds of thousands of years a secret from me, I'd be a little pissed, too." She shook her head. "I'm happy for Ironhide getting his mate back and all, but having Optimus find out the news about his the way he did- I'd almost call it cruel after everything he's done for the Autobots."

"Mirage wouldn't have meant any cruelty in his actions…" Bumblebee defended half-heartedly. He was sore on his commander, but nevertheless still felt compelled to aid in his defence. "He's always respected Optimus, he just has a strange way about himself…" He sighed, a gesture he'd been doing a lot of tonight. "I just hope leaving tomorrow will help Optimus somehow."

"Oh right, you guys are leaving for Will's place tomorrow, aren't you?" Sam intoned, tipping his head. "It's only you, him, Ironhide, Wheeljack, and Ratchet going, right? California is supposed to be really nice, and Will showed me a picture of his place once- it's real nice where he is. Consider it like a working vacation, right in time for the holidays. You've been so busy with everything else, like still working on your base and organizing planet falls for the new Autobots coming in, you all need a break. Even you, Bumblebee."

The scout inclined his head in consideration. "A break would be nice... However, who knows how much of a 'vacation' this mission will be if Virus has agreed to a contract. There will be no peace if she is around."

Sam blew a low, long whistle between his teeth. "Yeah, that's right, you mentioned something about cutting more deals with those 'Cons…"

"I was not that one who contacted the _Darksyde_. Ratchet was." He could not disguise the lash of bitterness colouring his tone.

"Ah," Sam flinched.

"You guys have got some serious chrome ball bearings to trust a Decepticon to help you. It's not exactly like they have a good track record," Miles piped in with the unknowing air of someone who had only ever heard of Decepticons without ever meeting one.

"You don't know the half of it," the Camaro growled, sounding rather displeased. "Virus was the one who attacked me and my crew when we were bringing the _Ark_ to Iacon to launch for the Allspark. She almost infected me, but a really good friend of mine took the hit. She almost _died_ because of that glitch! And now Virus is going to be helping that same friend…" His fist hit the ground, causing the earth to shiver. He cursed the fact that he couldn't give Arcee a designation in English. Calling her a 'really good friend' didn't feel like enough. "I know it's the only way to help her, but just the thought of Virus being around, close to her… It makes me sick inside."

"There's no other way to help your friend?" Mikaela asked, her brows knitted together.

"No," and the admission seemed to pain the Autobot more than any other truth. "According to Ironhide's sparkmate, what my friend is infected with is something serious, and our medics have been unable to treat her for a very long time. I don't want Virus anywhere near me or my friends, but if that monster is the only way to save her…"

"You sound like you care for your friend a lot," Mikaela murmured softly.

"I do, very much," Bumblebee croaked, surprising even himself. "All I want is for her to be alright."

"She'll be alright, Bee," Sam intoned confidently. "Everything will be fine. You're going to be there, and Prime and the others, too. You shouldn't have to worry about Virus trying to pull a fast one on you. If she does, you'll just shoot her or something."

"I'll be the first to shoot," Bumblebee confessed. An awkward silence followed suit as the three human teens shifted uncomfortably, and Bumblebee was reminded that even though he sought them as friends with similar mind sets, he was still millions of years their senior and forged from war.

"So, uh, some party we're having here, huh?" Miles suddenly chirped, twiddling his thumbs.

A small embarrassed noised twittered from the lone Cybertronian. "Oh, I'm sorry for putting a dampener on our hang out time! I've been looking forward to celebrating your holidays with you, and yet all I've managed to do since we got here is lament about my own problems…"

Sam waved a hand. "Don't worry about it, Bee. Just hanging out, doing nothing is fine by us."

"Wayyyyy fine by us," Miles intoned. "After busting my balls all month to get through exams, I deserve a Winter break doing sweet shit all, hanging out with my best human and alien buds."

"I have been meaning to ask about your holiday…" Bumblebee broached curiously, glad for a new topic to lighten the mood. "It is obvious none of you intend to celebrate anything tonight, so why is it you are all dressed as you are?" He gave a mild gesture to their mismatched attire, noting the style and material was not what they usually wore.

"Aw, this stuff? You could call it a stupid joke," Miles laughed, tossing his musty top hat carelessly. "This is just stuff from an old dress collection my grandma left me after she kicked the bucket. I break it out once in a while to give it some air, y'know? It's not fit to party in, but it's still funny as hell to walk in somewhere dressed like this and have people stare."

"I see…" the scout said, albeit with a tad of confusion. Miles grinned dopily, unconcerned with Bumblebee not understanding. He generally had that effect on everyone.

"Ignore what we're wearing, Bee. It's not important. All we want to do is have a little fun before you leave with the others tomorrow," Mikaela said. Even if she was currently wearing a dead woman's ugly dress, hanging out with the three most important guys in her life softened the blow.

"That's very sweet of you, Mikaela. All I want is to enjoy my time with you, as well," Bumblebee replied sincerely. "Now if only there was an outfit in Miles' collection that would fit me so I would match you three."

"You look handsome just the way you are," Mikaela giggled, only to end it on a shiver as a cold wind hit her back. December in Nevada might have been warmer than it was in other places, but the winter nights were still far from a balmy tropic vacation. In a quick gesture, Sam shrugged off his borrowed blazer from Miles' bizarre dress collection and draped it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," Mikaela said lowly, ducking into the jacket in hopes of stealing Sam's lingering warmth.

A light flush of colour crossed Sam's face as he quirked a half-smile at her. "Yeah, well, that's what you get for coming out here half-naked," he admonished good-naturedly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Miles made me wear it," Mikaela sighed.

"I wasn't the one who got naked and shimmied into that thing," Miles countered, grinning triumphantly anyways. "You did that all by yourself."

"But you _did _steal my shoes and threatened to throw them on the roof if I didn't change," Mikaela retorted, pouty lips pursed in a frown that would have had jocks on their knees. Sadly, the effect glanced off Miles with the same nonchalance rainwater glanced off a duck's back.

"I could have gotten your shoes down if he threw them," Bumblebee offered lightly.

"The offer's a little belated, Bee. I'm already in the dress," Mikaela sighed, tapping the toes of her black converse shoes absently. She shot a wry look to the blond human from the corner of her eye. "Is sticking me in this fugly dress some kind of sick revenge for all the girls at school who think you're gay?"

Miles opened his mouth for a smartass reply, only to pause, process Mikaela's words, and then asked, "…they think I'm _gay_?"

Sam rolled his eyes, laying a light punch to Miles' arm. He knew _exactly_ why Miles had chosen the dress. It was his sick way of torturing his best friend because Sam had been dumb enough to lament over the fact that he still had the hots for Mikaela. And now he was sitting next to the woman with her legs all sexy and mile-long in a butt-ugly dress that only came to her mid-thigh, all snuggled down in his blazer, and he couldn't touch her as anything more than a friend. Knowing Miles, he probably thought the whole thing was hilarious.

"Dude, _ow_!" Miles whined, rubbing his abused arm. "I already told you, I didn't _make_ her put it on. She had a choice, and she chose the dress."

"_Jerk,"_ Mikaela grumbled darkly. "I'm freezing!"

"I could take us somewhere warmer," Bumblebee offered, revving lightly like he was laughing at them. Primus, was it ever nice to hang out with his friends again and not have to act like an Autobot. Sometimes it was nice to just act as he really felt. "Perhaps we could go to the dance you mentioned your school is having? I'm sure something like that would be far more comfortable for you."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Why would we want to go there when you'd end up stuck in the parking lot?"

Again, Bumblebee sounded like he was laughing at them. "Maybe so Mikaela will not freeze to death out here?"

"I like the plan!" Mikaela whined, her teeth chattering.

Even with Mikaela being two seconds away from becoming the world's sexiest icicle, the choice was still hard. Bumblebee was one of his best friends, and it clearly stated in the code of best friend ethics that you didn't leave your best friends in parking lots to sit and rot.

"Let's just go someplace warm, Sam," Mikaela urged, a begging lilt decorating her voice as she scooted to his side. "I don't care where. I can't feel my legs anymore."

His gaze dropped to her exposed legs, shivering and pale as they were exposed to the cool night air. He had to swallow hard in order to force a suddenly thick breath of air into his lungs. "Yeah, your legs," he said absently, one hand going out to rub the prickled flesh above her knee. His palm was lukewarm, but the shared body heat was appreciated anyways. He felt a full body shiver go through her, drawing him to a decision. "Okay, we'll go some place with heating, but only if you're okay with being left out in the cold, Bee. I don't want you to feel left out…"

Bumblebee revved lightly, looking oddly delighted. "Why would I feel left out? Going someplace with you would give me a chance to try out my new holo-matter emitters. Wheeljack installed them a few days ago." His optics brightened as he smiled down at them. "I want to see if I can blend in with you Earthlings. I'll be a fun experiment."

Sam laughed. "I was actually thinking of someplace less public, like my house. You could still try out your holo-matter emitters, but it'll just be us there."

"I have been wanting to have a real look around your house…" Bumblebee said thoughtfully.

"Sounds good to me," Mikaela said, happy to have someplace to go where she wouldn't make a public spectacle of herself. Bumblebee was kind enough to offer a finger to help her down from the tabletop, and then he pushed himself to his feet. Yellow armour flashed in the white moonlight as he stretched, his doorwings comically flexing. From his greater height, he caught sight of headlights turning off the main road towards the lake.

"It looks like we have company," the scout announced, gracefully folding into his alt mode. The doors were open in invitation. "Let's go before we're waylaid by them."

"I don't suppose the incoming car is alien, is it?" Miles asked cheekily, partially hoping more alien fun was to be had.

"No, it's completely Earth-bound, right down to the passengers in it," the scout assured.

"Too bad."

Gravel crunched as the vehicle crawled into sight, music pumping from the speakers so loudly the air throbbed in time to the bass. It was still a good dozen yards away, but Mikaela recognized the tacky blue truck anyways.

"It's Trent," she hissed, bristling.

In an instant, Sam's hackles were up. "Are you kidding me?"

"I wish."

He marched around from the driver's side to take up a guarded position at Mikaela's side. She shot him a hard glare, her mouth pursed. She could see the protective hardness written across Sam's face, and while a part of her found his protectiveness sweet and flattering, the smarter part of her knew that it wouldn't do him any good.

"Whatever you're thinking, _don't_," she murmured between tight lips. For emphasis, she laid a hand to the center of his chest and pushed. "Let's just go." Miles squeaked similar sentiments while Bumblebee played Lenny Kravitz's "_Fly Away_" quietly over the radio-

"_I want to get away-  
I want to fly away,  
Yeahhhhh, Yeahhhhhh, Yeahhhhhh-." _

With Mikaela's pleading face mere inches from his own, Sam couldn't say no. He wasn't even dating her and he was whipped. A small smile let her know he relented. "Alright, let's go-."

"_Hey, Mikaela! Is that you?"_ Trent's loud call bit through whatever Sam was going to say. A loose group of familiar faces flanked him, a few jocks and one or two dolled up girls.

"God, not now," Mikaela groaned. Sam unconsciously slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. The gesture did wonders to help ease her, though did nothing to stop Trent from coming closer.

"Hey! Hey, Mikaela!" the jock called again, sauntering with the self-assured grace of an over-indulged child. As he came closer, his features sharpened in the light of Bumblebee's headlights, the familiar condescension he reserved for _everyone_ becoming apparent.

"Yeah, Trent, it's me," Mikaela replied, using a tone normally reserved for admitting defeat.

"I thought it was," DeMarco replied smugly, either failing to hear or completely ignoring how reluctant his ex-girlfriend sounded when speaking with him.

"Your powers of deduction are astounding," Sam intoned dryly, shoving one hand into his pocket and bracing his hip against Bumblebee's side. He never relinquished the hand on Mikaela's waist, part protection and part possessiveness in the face of one of her ex-boyfriends.

Mikaela shot Sam an incendiary glare, threatening bodily harm if he dared to start anything with his smartass routine. She needn't worry about Miles as he cowered behind them. Bumblebee, on the other hand… She could only hope he would adhere to the Autobots' rule of staying out of purely human squabbles.

"Whatever, Wilgicky," Trent snorted, once again proving that one needed an IQ higher than a rock to get Sam's surname right. Finding the scrawny boy's presence far less interesting than Mikaela's current condition, his patronizing gaze ran over her from top to bottom. He took in her faded dress, rumpled hair, listening as her teeth chattering even as she huddled into someone's musty blazer. There was something sad about finding such a beauty looking so frumpy, and yet it was satisfying to know her fall had come from breaking up with him.

"That's- uh, an interesting get up you have on," he commented, knowing it would bother her the most.

"I'm borrowing it from a friend," Mikaela replied shortly.

"Does your friend happen to be blind?" Laughter and leering followed, making the once self-assured Mikaela Banes feel rather small.

"By the looks of what _you're_ wearing, she borrowed from you," Sam snapped in her defence.

"Seriously, Sam, don't start anything," Mikaela hissed desperately, hoping to appeal to Sam's inner sense of self-preservation. Miles had already taken Sam's sleeve and was trying to tug him into Bumblebee. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't listening as he locked a glare on Trent, blatantly challenging.

Trent's features tightened, his earlier humour draining away. Even if he had had the pure intention to taunt when he'd first laid eyes on Mikaela, Witwicky was quickly digging himself a deep grave.

"I'd listen to her, Witwicky- don't start something you can't finish," Trent warned, shaking his arm loose from the little tart hanging on to it. His friends-cum-lackeys glanced up from their boozing next to the truck, recognizing the tone Trent used as the one generally heard before someone got pounded.

The threat was real enough for Bumblebee to override his desire to stay out of human spats. A willowy blond hologram materialized behind his back fender, quickly easing between the two posturing male aliens in hopes to defuse the situation. Turning his too blue, too bright eyes on the potential threat, he said, "Nobody wants to start anything. If you will be so kind as to move, we'll be on our way."

Aside from the hologram's unnerving stare, Trent was unmoved. He cocked a smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know what, I don't think I will move. If Witwicky has something to say, let him say it. I'm listening."

The hologram frowned deeply. It was frustrating to think that if he stood in his natural form, the human wouldn't dare be so cocky. However, transformation was out of the question, and the impetuous young brute obviously wasn't going to listen to reason.

"It's okay, Bee. He's right, I _do_ have a few things I want to say to him." Sam eased around Mikaela's rigid form, finally at the end of his short tether. If he was going to speak his mind, he wasn't going to do it while Mikaela was acting as a human shield.

"_Dude, you're going to get flattened,"_ Miles groaned.

Ignoring the pure lack of confidence his friends had in him, Sam came to stand a mere few feet away from his hated human nemesis. He found himself oddly calm, starkly reminded that there were things a hell of a lot bigger and scarier in the universe than some human thug with a rich daddy and a superiority complex.

Knowing that fancy words would only be wasted Trent DeMarco, Sam opted to get straight to the point.

"Look, Trent, we've always had this brains-versus-brawn undercurrent between us, and it's obvious which one of us is the brains, so I'm going to say this nice and slow for you: _Grow. Up._ Drop whatever stupid vendetta you have against us and move on. We haven't done anything to you except not bowing to be your little bitches; we don't deserve to be shit on every time we walk into school. I don't know if it's occurred to you, but we have enough to deal with in our lives without you coming along and screwing with us every once in a while." On a wave of latent indignation, Sam drew himself up proudly, feeling extraordinarily good about standing up to the dickwad who had been walking all over him since preschool. He only wished he could spit the fact that he had _saved the world_ in DeMarco's face. That would _really_ fuck with his steroid-saturated brain. Nonetheless, he thought to finish with a flourish. "Not to sound ungrateful though- it's been great taking classes in How to Fail at Life with you, but I think it's best if I leave you with top marks there. I'm just going to get on with my life, content in the knowledge that if the status quo is maintained, you're going to end up flipping burgers somewhere-."

Stars suddenly erupted across Sam's vision as a heavy fist smashed into his face.

As a lightweight, he didn't stand a chance against the force behind the blow. He hit the ground hard, instant recoil snapping his hands to his face where blood now blossomed from a deep gouge made by a studded ring. Trent swung at him again, missing by a breath as Sam kicked away, swinging to his feet. It was in that moment Sam figured he could have toned his spiel down _a little_, if only to save him the trouble he was in now. Still reeling from the first attack, he could only stand on a wavering defensive as Trent charged like a bull. One hand still clutching his throbbing eye, he skittered away from one attack, then another, and when Trent bent to tackle him, Sam took a shot at the guy's kidney. A strangled bellow followed Trent to the ground.

"Behind you!" Mikaela screamed, watching Trent's two lackeys drop their booze and lurch forward. Faster than what a human was capable of, Bumblebee interceded them, dispatching one with an open palm to the solar plexus and then downing the other with a swift kick to sweep his opponent's feet from under him.

By then, Trent had recovered and dove for Sam again. At the last moment, Sam jumped for dear life, landing his knee squarely in Trent's face. A sickening crunch announced cartilage disconnecting. A gush of blood bloomed from Trent's crooked nose, a mangled cry gurgling from him as he went to his knees again, this time with no intention of getting up.

Out of pure shock, Sam stumbled away. A slight limp tilted his gait, proving how hard his knee had connected. Strangely, a flash of Megatron's defeated form materialized in his mind's eye. He'd defeated _two_ impossible giants in his lifetime now, an alien one and his own personal one. The victory would have felt good if everything else didn't hurt like hell.

Mikaela was suddenly at his side, yanking on his hand to get him to move.

"Did you see that? Seriously? I totally just kicked his ass," he muttered disbelievingly, only to be shot an incredulous look.

"He could of killed you, Sam!" she spat furiously, even if only 9/10ths of her anger was really just excess adrenaline. "Let's just get out of here before anything more happens." She wished she had something to press to his face to stem the blood. There was _a lot_ of blood. The cut must have been deep.

Bumblebee hefted the two humans he'd defeated and dropped them next to Trent. With a dark glare, he swooped in to wrench Trent's nose back into place before he could be stopped. Unaffected by the blood-curdling howl the boy emitted, the hologram leaned close with a trained expression of severity.

"Let this be a lesson to you," he warned sternly, promptly straightening and trotting over to his alt mode.

A flurry of movement to the left alerted Sam to a new incoming danger as one of the girls who had arrived with Trent launched forward. A low growl ground from Mikaela as her patience burned up. Taking a page out of her family's less-than-reputable book, her hand lashed out and she backhanded her ex-friend as hard as she could. The smack of skin-on-skin resounded in the night with disturbing clarity.

"Touch him and I'll show you how much of a bitch I can be," she snarled, gripping Sam's arm tightly in righteous possessiveness.

Seeing something truly dangerously flash in Mikaela's eyes, the girl backed down, slinking away to see to Trent instead.

With an indignant huff, Mikaela yanked Sam the rest of the way to Bumblebee, throwing him in the backseat without caring about blood getting on the leather. Sam let himself be manhandled, too terrified to say anything edgewise. Mikaela was truly terrifying when angry. A rumpled handkerchief that had been stuffed in Miles' blazer pocket was shoved into Sam's face, mopping up blood.

"Bumblebee, let's go!" Mikaela snapped, throwing herself into the passenger's seat. The Autobot's hologram was already in the driver's seat. He gave a terse nod, the doors snapping shut and back wheels tearing up dirt as he shot away.

* * *

It was a small blessing that Ron and Judy had left on a second honeymoon for two weeks three days prior, leaving the Witwicky household empty when Bumblebee tore into the driveway. Staring up at the blackened windows of his homestead, it was the first time Sam didn't feel resentful that his parents got to go to Italy for Christmas and he was stuck home alone for the holidays. With blood staining the majority of his face and neck, not to mention dribbling down in gory patterns across his chest and lap, there was no shortage of gratitude to whatever power had vacated his parents from the continent. His mother would have had kittens if she'd seen him.

A strong hand came into his vision, grabbing his arm and hauling him out of the backseat.

"I can walk, Bumblebee," he grumped, shaking loose of the hologram's hold. Giving a curt nod, Bee turned and trotted to the house, walking through the front door and unlocking it from the inside. In the scout's absence, Mikaela slid to Sam's side, her steely silence belying the anger that had not dissipated during the drive from the lake. Sam had no choice but to allow himself to be pushed across the front lawn, through the door, and into his living room, where he was forced to sit on the coffee table.

"_Stay,"_ Mikaela ordered, brandishing a pointed finger at him as if he were a very bad dog. Once sure he was going to heed her order, she spun on her heel and marched for the kitchen.

"I get the feeling you're in trouble," Miles sang as he wandered in, taking up residence on the couch. He looked as if the whole thing had been one big joke, including the darkening bruise now settling across Sam's eye and cheekbone.

"Shut up," Sam retorted half-heartedly, meaning to glare over his shoulder but the blood-soaked handkerchief suck to his face diminished the effect. He sighed. "Sorry about ruining your stuff- the shirt and everything."

"Don't worry about it, man. I'd let you ruin a thousand of my shirts if it meant I could watch Trent get his ass kicked again." A sudden laugh drifted from Miles as he twirled his tophat. "You do realize that when we get back from Christmas vacation, you're gonna be like the king of the school."

"Miles, don't. This is _so_ not the time-," Sam groaned

"But I'm serious! When people find out, they're going to be floored! Sam Witwicky, you an ass-kicking beast! Isn't that right, Bumblebee?" Miles looked over at the hologram lingering nearby.

"I would have rather settled the matter peacefully," the holo replied with a shake of his head.

"You're no fun," Miles sighed dramatically. "Why don't you sit down, and maybe blink every once in a while? You're starting to freak me out."

"Sorry," Bumblebee chuckled, sliding over to the cushion next to the human.

Mikaela chose that moment to whip back into the room, a bag of frozen peas in one hand and a damp rag in the other. She thrust both out to Sam. "For your eye," she announced tightly. She eyed his bloody clothes critically, biting her bottom lip. Thanks to some of her dad's less-successful car jackings, she knew how to take blood out of clothes. "Take your shirt off."

"What?"

"You heard me: take your shirt off. I'm going to go soak it in the bathtub, maybe get the blood out."

Seeing no point in protesting, Sam stripped himself of his shirt. "You want my pants, too?" he asked, not even thinking about how the question sounded.

"Pants, too," Mikaela confirmed. She didn't even bat an eye as Sam went down to his socks and boxers. She gathered his shucked clothing and marched away again, this time heading up the stairs to the bathroom attached to Sam's bedroom. Seconds later, the sounds of water running could be heard.

Sam stared at the stairwell for a few moments, frowned, and then decided to lie across the cool wood of the coffee table. The solid surface was a godsend as the room spun a little. Carefully, he placed the bag of frozen peas over his throbbing eye, thankful to have something to ease the fire. Damn, he had a killer headache. If he passed out from blood loss or concussion, he wasn't particularly worried about leaving Miles or Mikaela to wander around his home. Miles knew the Witwicky house almost as well as he knew his own, and Mikaela's presence was pleasantly familiar and welcome from her week staying with him in November. Bumblebee, on the other hand…

"Hey, if you want to explore the place, you're welcome to it," Sam mumbled, peering out his one good eye to the hologram. Bumblebee kindly declined in favour of staying close. He even took up the damp rag Mikaela had left to help scrub away the rusty-brown smudges left where blood ha soaked through Sam's clothes.

A few minutes later, Mikaela tromped back down the stairs with a first aid kit tucked under her arm, a pair of flannel pyjama pants slung over her shoulder. She herself had shed her dress and was now sporting a t-shirt she'd left behind from her previous stay and helped herself to a pair of Sam's clean boxers to use as shorts. Even with only one eye to see her by, Sam couldn't help but think Mikaela beautiful. Her gaze lowered to his splayed form across the low table, a frown pulling at her features as she traced him from head to foot. The first aid kit dropped dangerously close to his head, causing him to jump up.

"Whoa, hey, what has got you so pissy now?" Sam whined, dropping the peas to grab at both her wrists. "Hey, come on, look at me," he pleaded, holding her still until she met his gaze. "What's got you so twisted? What did I do to you?"

"You… you- urgh!" The fire drained out of her, causing her rigid body to sag. Working her hands free, she sat him back down on the table and came down with him. "You shouldn't have fought. I told you _not_ to get in a fight. You could have gotten really hurt."

Sam blinked, pointing to his own face incredulously. "If you hadn't noticed, _I_ wasn't the one throwing the first punch."

She shot him a dirty look, hitting his hand away in order to clean the gouge below his eye. "_I know that_! But you shouldn't have said those things, Sam. You could have just walked away and we all would have been fine."

"But I _did_ need to say those things, Mickey," Sam insisted piteously, grimacing under the touch of the antiseptic. "Yeah, I could have toned it down, but someone _needed_ to say something. Everyone keeps saying how brave I am and how strong I was to stand up to Megatron; I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't stand up to one little human."

"One of these days, your mouth is going to get you into more trouble than you can handle, either with a human or a Cybertronian." Those beautiful eyes of hers looked to his with so much emotion it made his heart clench. "Do you have any idea how bad I would feel if you got hurt?" She snorted. "What am I talking about? You _did_ get hurt-."

"And you feel like it's your fault," Sam concluded, his hand rising on its own to cover Mikaela's, pressing her palm to his cheek. He got his answer when she looked away. A sick feeling of guilt fell into the pit of his stomach. "Aw, Mikaela, this isn't your fault. I was stupid; I was trying to be a big man…" In truth, he felt like an ass now, knowing he made the woman he secretly still adored worry. Sitting half naked in his living room while she pasted a ridiculously large band-aid to his face didn't help matters, either.

Miles grinned as he watched the scene unfold. He motioned for Bumblebee to lean in, feeling positively giddy as he sung into the hologram's ear- _"I can see what's happening~"_

Bumblebee tipped his head. "What?"

At the alien's obliviousness, the teen grinned even wider. _"And they don't have a clue!"_ he continued to sing.

"Who?"

Miles could barely contain the urge to break out into an all-out musical._"They'll fall in love, and here's the bottom line: our trio's down to two!" _

Finally, the lyrics clicked into place. Bumblebee shot him a flat look. "You're singing a song from that Disney movie, _The Lion King_, aren't you?"

Skipping a proper answer, Miles nodded triumphantly towards his best guy friend and best girl friend. Bumblebee's dawning expression of elation was comical, an open-mouthed grin painting his holographic face.

"Oh! Oh, finally!" he exclaimed so only Miles would hear. "I get it now! This is great!" He took Miles's hand happily. "I think it's time we go. I'll drive you home." Together, they stood from the couch and crept towards the front door, throwing each other thumbs up along the way.

"Where are you two going?" Sam called before they could make it out.

Thinking quickly, Bumblebee replied, "I just received orders from the others to rendezvous with them immediately; we are heading out early. I volunteered to drop Miles off before I meet them."

"Oh, I see- well, uh… Good luck in California, I guess," Sam said, waving awkwardly. "I hope you can help your friend- and I hope Optimus gets better."

"See you when you get back," Mikaela said, offering a sweet smile.

"Yes, I'll see you later. Good bye." He turned to usher Miles from the house, only to discover the teen had already bolted onto the front lawn.

"_-Can You Feel The Love Tonight!" _

Employing superhuman speed and strength, Bumblebee snatched the blond from the grass and threw him into his alt mode. In the blink of an eye, the holo dissipated and the Camaro was gone.

"That was… _strange_," Mikaela pointedly out awkwardly.

"Stranger than usual, anyways," Sam shrugged.

"Uh-huh…"

Treatment to his battle wound done, he stepped into the pants brought down for him and flopped gratefully onto the vacated couch. After a moment's hesitation, Mikaela followed, bringing the peas with her for Sam's eye. The moment didn't feel right for the noise of the television, so they left it off, leaving Sam to contemplate the coolness of his frozen bag of peas and the warmth of the woman sitting next to next to him while Mikaela gratefully thawed by the body heat Sam was radiating. After a few minutes of not moving, Mikaela dared to lean over, laying her head to Sam's shoulder. In response, Sam cautiously placed his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"So, um, when do you have to be home?" he asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Don't know. Chase is out for the night, I think."

A shadow of worry crossed Sam's face. "Drinking?"

"Yeah, but she's with guys from the garage she works at. They'll keep her in line," Mikaela assured.

Sam nodded, shifting cautiously. "If you don't want to spend the night alone at your place, you can spend it with me," he offered, grimacing at how he made the offer sound. "Not that you have to spend it with me, _me_, like sex- you know what I mean, right? You take my bed and I'll sleep on the cot. It's still in my room- I haven't taken it down-."

"I noticed," Mikaela giggled quietly. By now they both felt the new awareness stirring between them, stuck wondering if the other felt it too. Turning so that she could cuddle into Sam's side, one arm wrapping around his front while her cheek pillowed against his heart, Mikaela decided she didn't want to cower about the issue anymore.

"Sam, do you know why I broke up with you?" she asked.

For a moment, Sam tensed, and then slowly relaxed once more. "Because you needed a break from me, right?"

A soft noise drifted out her nose, almost like a laugh. "No, nothing like that. It was because I was scared," she admitted, leaving the words to hang before she continued. She felt the hand on her hip tighten fractionally. "This is going to sound really stupid, but you were so nice to me, and so different from all the guys I dated before. You were almost too good too be true."

"Oh yeah, I'm a regular old prince charming," he chuckled, albeit with a note of self-deprecation.

"You were to me," Mikaela murmured quietly, hugging him tighter. "I was so scared of what I was starting to feel for you… I didn't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Sam prompted softly.

"Yeah… There was a lot of shit happening in my life, and not just with the Autobots. I didn't want to drag you down with me." She felt him move, dropping the peas to wrap both arms around her, dragging her into his lap. His arms settled around her in a loose loop.

"You mean with your dad, and Chase, and things like that? Everything about your crazy family?"

"My crazy family," she sighed, realizing that everything she had tried to keep away from Sam was everything he'd been helping and supporting her through anyways.

"You know, you haven't dragged me down yet," he pointed out, a small smile decorating his lips. "Your dad might not be a shining example of fatherhood, and Chase sure isn't going to win any awards for her stunning personality, but they're not the ones I was dating. All I cared about was you." He paused, drawing in a shaky breath before adding softly, "and I still do."

It was that sweet, gentle boyishness he said the words with that touched her heart.

"I still care about you, too," she breathed. Her gaze drew up to his, facing his puffy, bruised face without flinching. A moment passed where they merely stared, and then Sam's lips were on hers. There was no force, just touch, brushing their lips together in a gentle chaste kiss that was meant to test the waters. When he drew away, he looked as if he hadn't seen her in a thousands years.

"I missed you," he murmured reverently.

"Missed you, too," she whispered, bringing his head back down for another kiss.

God, how they'd missed each other! Not just the sight, or sound, or touch of the other, which they had always had in friendship, but the taste of the other, the warmth and intimacy. Careful of Sam's face, they sought to deepen their reopened connection, lips gently plied to lips, moving in soft, languid rhythm.

The arms around Mikaela's back tightened, drawing her as close as Sam dared. She was as light as air in his lap, and yet the feeling of her long, slender legs spread across his lap lit fire in his blood. He was in utter ecstasy to think after so long, he _finally _had her back, and all it took was nearly getting his brains punched out the back of his head. Long, trembling fingers threaded through his thick hair, tilting his face to allow Mikaela better access to his mouth. She was suddenly so eager to kiss him, freed of whatever burdens that had held her at bay for so many months. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine holding someone so beautiful, kissing someone who wanted to kiss him back just as badly.

Impulsively, her body arched forward. Lightning arced through the entirety of Sam's body as she brushed the evidence of his arousal. He broke away on a gasp, looking away as his face flushed deeply.

"S-sorry," he stammered embarrassedly.

"It's okay, I don't mind," she laughed, kissing the side of his mouth. The fingers in his hair caressed his scalp while curiously darkened eyes searched Sam's face, finding only open adoration mixed with pain as he resisted his obvious desire for her. She found her heart charmed by what she saw.

He groaned at the loss of her closeness as she backed off his lap. He didn't mean to get an erection- it just sort of happened. He was young, male, and had the woman he cared deeply for splayed open on his lap while he kissed her. There would have been something wrong with him if he didn't react to her at least a little bit. But, to his surprise, she didn't walk away to let him cool down. Instead, she took his hands and pulled him up, stretching up to kiss him again, deliberately rubbing against him.

"M-Mikaela?" His voice cracked.

"_It's okay,"_ she murmured against his mouth.

"Are you sure?" he asked, feeling dizzy as what remained of the blood in his body all went south.

Mikaela's nod was slow, her smile brilliant enough to outshine the sun. "Yeah, I trust you, Sam. Come on." She clasped his hands tight, tugging him towards the stairs. They were about to truly feel the love tonight.


	34. Worlds Apart

**Liiiiiiittttttaaaaaaaaaaaa~! You're the best! **Super-awesome-mega-big shout out to the most awesome-incredible-sweethearted-super-fantastic friend ever to exist in the multiverse! XD Why, may you ask, am I giving this uber-awesome shout out? Because I can! And because it's all freaking true and the world deserves to know! *w00t! w00t!*

*ahem* Okay, now on to **Thank You Corner**!

**Elita One- **Angst and Love are my specialties, my friend. :)

**Jason M. Lee- **I'm sure Judy will come up with something else to embarrass her baby boy with. ^^;

**Theshadowcat- **Hahaha, yeah, it took awhile, but they're finally back together. :)

**Charlie- **Oh wow, just recently found my stories, huh? I'm flattered that you decided to stay and read. :) Sam/Mikaela is a fave pairing of mine, so you'll be sure to see them in the future. Perhaps even in that one-shot I mentioned. ;P

**CuteKitten- **Teehee, it is a little bit of a situation, isn't it? But don't worry, everything will be sure to be resolved in its own time. :) And I'm so flattered that you like my version of Sam and Mikaela. They're a lot of fun to write for. :D

**Flameshield- **You make a good point, my friend. Ironhide and Prime switching until Prime is back to his full faculties is a valid idea. We'll just have to see where the winds take the story. :) As for the one-shot, I'll see what I can do.^^

**Kittisbat- **Oh wow, that is some super-whacky theory, but fun all the same. At least I can say that _isn't_ what happens, but, of course, there are a thousand and one other possible fates. ;P And I thank you for your honest opinion on the one-shot. I'll definitely take your thoughts into consideration.

**KittenCeez- **My goodness, a week marathoning my stories? O_o You deserve a prize, my dear! Thank you so much for your review, I'm honoured that you have liked this series so far. :)

**Violetlight- ** Hahahaha, you just made my day! Maybe for the third movie, I'll be able to weasel my way in, or else wait a couple decades for a reboot of the movie series and write for that! xD Anyways, I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter, especially Ironhide's admission of Optimus being the stronger one. Your input has a special place in my inbox. *hugs*

**BalrogRoike- **Teehee, I'm glad I made you laugh. The song lyrics were a little iffy for me to use, but so long as one reader enjoyed the indulgence, then it was worth it. :)

**Silveriss- **Yeah, there's a lot of stuff that still needs to be done with this honking story, but I swear, dragging Elita out of the crapper is at the top of my list! XD

**Bluebird Soaring- **You're very welcome, my friend. The opening scene was an absolute pleasure to write. Getting Sam and Mikaela back together was an even greater pleasure! I'll be sure to see what I can come up with for a one-shot.

**Independent C- **Trust me, there's about to be a lot of bonding and getting reacquainted with old flames coming up in this story. A lot of fun is about to commence! ;P As for your questions, I'm more than happy to explain! :) The crew of the _Loki_ were sent to follow Nightbeat's signal to lead them to the Mastermind, but they got pulled into the wormhole before anything worse happened to them. Regarding Virus and the Allspark shard- she knows nothing of it.

**Anonymous reader- **Best song ever! XD

**Cynthia- **Thank you so much for the love on Optimus and Ironhide's characters. They are both such a pleasure to bring to life. Rest assured, I am going to try my hardest to keep this series going to the end. :)

**FunkyFish1991- **Hahahahahahaha, to true, my friend. Too true. Disney cheese, even if the company is a soul-sucking monster that needs to have stake rammed through it's shrivelled blackened heart, is some of the best classic cheese there is. And thanks for the tip on humans spontaneously combusting- now I wanna see it happen. *grins evilly*

**Nytefire- ***sigh* You're very right, the mantle of being Prime is a tough one, even more so when he is reminded that he is only as mortal as the rest of us.

**Lady Tecuma- **Teehee, that darn old Barry White is giving me inspiration! XD But you're right, poor Optimus. He just can't seem to catch the break he desperately needs.

**Litachatchee- **Holy flying horny toads, woman, that review was amazing! Crazy-assed time warp thing aside, I was over the moon to get up in the morning and see that your review had finally appeared! I had to read it again just to make sure reading it last night wasn't a dream! xD Thank you so much for taking the time to write out your thoughts and send them along. Like I said last night, I'm taking your suggestions to mind and am going to probably employ them in the last chapter.^^

**Bunnylass- **You have totally managed to take my breath away with your amazing reviews. Not only did you submit for chapter 32, but then you reviewed for 33 (the crazy fuckery of messing you notwithstanding)! *Is completely blown away* I've been reading your reviews over and over and I still can't understand what I did to deserve a reader and friend as awesome as you. Thank you so much for the love you've shown! I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter! *hugs*

Special thanks and credits to **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte **and **FunkyFish1991**.^^

**As We Come Together  
In Which They are Worlds Apart**

"_Nngggg…" _

Make-up sex is probably one of the finest kinds of sex there is, or, at least, that was the general thought of the previous night before Sam and Mikaela slipped off into dreamland. The sexual deprivation of several months apart only served to make things better. They were not too energetic of the morning after, though. Romping around the sheets had left them zapped, wonderfully sluggish between the sheets as they let the morning ooze away. They weren't even really conscious for most of the dawn hours, waking up for a few minutes only to snuggle back down to the warm body next to them and fall asleep again.

It was not until the sound of movement downstairs reached them that the teens bothered to do more than snuggle and snore. Mikaela was the first to catch the noise, stirring gently at first, and then shooting up in alarm when she realized she was listening to something more than just an empty house. She prodded Sam sharply between the ribs to rouse him.

"_Sam! Sam, wake up!" _

He barely managed to pry open his eyes. _"Whaaa-?"_

"_Listen!" _

A moment later, the colour drained from his face as he heard what she was hearing.

"_There's someone in the house!"_ she hissed needlessly, pale underneath her natural tan.

Sam shot her a _'no duh!_' panicked look. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he untangled himself from Mikaela and slid from his bed as quietly as he could. _'This can't be happening!' _He internally cursed the fact that he never checked the locks the night before. He _always_ checked the locks! His mother was going to _kill_ him if their house was gutted by burglars!

"_Oh my god, you are __**not**__ going down there!" _Mikaela swore breathlessly as he tugged on his discarded boxers and reached for the nearest thing that could be considered a weapon, which happened to be a skateboard. _"You're going to get yourself killed! Call the police!" _

"_They'll be gone by the time the cops get here!" _Sam paused at his half-open door, taking a few deep breaths of calm his racing pulse. Taking on possibly-armed burglars in his house was probably one of his dumber ideas. But, he was a teenaged boy with ridiculous notions of protecting his home and lady-love from intruders, so taking on possibly-armed burglars was what he was going to do.

He eased out into the hall, avoiding the spots where he knew the floor would creak. His shin collided with the hulking form of a vacuum cleaner he didn't remember being there the night before, but he thankfully managed to muffle his curse over the oversight. A rustling at his shoulder announced Mikaela's presence behind him.

'_Get back in my room!" _he ordered.

The glare she shot him was so fierce that he cringed, reminded of her fury the night before. For cover, she had stolen the top sheet from his bed, employing it as a makeshift toga that looked way too tempting on her to be facing down unknown evils in.

"_I'm coming with you whether you like it or not!"_ she snapped, leaving no room for argument. The ferocity flashing in her eyes reminded him sharply that Mikaela was a lot more dangerous than she looked. And the finger she jabbed into his chest _hurt_.

He set his jaw, trying to look as if her indignant anger wasn't enough to have him crumble. _"Okay, you can come, but stay behind me."_

It took a moment, but eventually Mikaela spat out a vehement, _"Fine!"_

Sam, with skateboard in hand, led the way down the hall, taking the stairs at a silent pace. Mikaela tucked her sheet in tight, her breath ragged as she followed. Coming abreast of the first floor, the sounds of human activity clarified, emanating from the kitchen. Strangely, it was not what one would expect of a hostile looting of an upper-middleclass home. In fact, the soft murmur of noise was much more familiar than one would expect, _domestic_ even; the clatter of frying pans over stove elements, whisper of a whisk, the padding of bare feet over tiled floor. Drawing closer revealed the undertone of two voices- the rough rasp of one, the smooth, deep tone of another, broken by the hiss of grease snapping. Sam and Mikaela's noses tipped to the air as mouth-watering scents of hot food drifted by, enticing their empty stomachs. Either the burglars had stopped to make a meal, or else something else entirely was going on…

They heard the patio door slide open, followed shortly by the clicking of tiny claws. High-pitched yips announced the creature as Mojo. Out of fear for the wellbeing of his dog, Sam sucked up his sense of self-preservation and swung into the kitchen, only to freeze at the sight that greeted him.

"What the-?"

"_Shhhhhhhh,"_ the hologram shushed, smiling broadly as he nodded towards the woman currently manning the stove, her shoulder cocked to hold a cordless phone to her ear as she talked.

"But-."

Hound cut him off with a shake of his head, and then indicated to Sam's blackened eye concernedly. Sam touched it, grimacing as he felt the swollen bruise.

"_Party favour,"_ he mouthed to the Autobot. Failing to understand the explanation, Hound merely nodded, remaining perturbed over seeing a youngling damaged.

The exchange was quick, no more than a few seconds, but it was enough for Mikaela to decide the coast was clear. She scurried into sight, greeted with a wave from Hound as he set aside his concern in order to grin in welcome to her.

"Hound?" she squeaked.

"_Back from the Himalayas,"_ he mouthed, mimicking the motions of a human mouth incredibly well.

"Oh…"

Content that they were not going to disturb the phone call in-progress, Hound turned back to his original observations of how human fuel was refined for consumption. Having studiously watched the process of gathering the ingredients, measuring what was needed, and now applying it to heat for desired results, the Autobot likened the concept to a form of edible chemistry. It helped his understanding greatly when the one preparing the meal was trained as an engineer, able to explain the process in somewhat-mechanical terms for him. Having been practising with his holographic controls extensively, Hound was able to display an impressive illusion of humanity as he relaxed against the counter of the island, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his head canted ever so slightly as he watched the motions of his companion thoughtfully. Everything looked so deceptively simple; he could probably mimic the process if he wanted to.

If Sam and Mikaela had not known better, it would have looked like Hound was playing the part of a fond husband watching his wife. The mere idea was laughable. As it stood, they knew better, and the way Hound got excited when a pancake was flipped in midair gave him away as the alien he was. Mojo skipped around the hologram's feet, happy to have been let back in the house and curious of the being who looked like a human but smelled like a new car.

"-nah, don't worry about it, Judy. I really don't mind coming over to check up on things."

The dry rasp of a rough female voice drew Sam and Mikaela's bewildered gazes back to the stove range where none other than Chase Banes stood. She was in her usual state of disarray, her wild hair drawn back into a knotty ponytail and the sleeves of her wrinkled button-up rolled to her elbows. Some time during the baking process, a layer of flour had come to settle in her hair, smudged up her arms and across her face. There was no evidence of a hangover as she darted over the range, meaning she'd lost a bet and had been forced to be the designated driver last night. One hand wielded a spatula like a screwdriver while the other alternated between hitching up her falling pants and smacking Hound's hand away every time he saw an opportunity to "help".

"Did we somehow slip into the Twilight Zone?" Sam muttered haplessly. Mikaela shrugged weakly.

Nevertheless, they continued to watch the disturbingly domestic scene with the same outright horror most people watched the aftermath of a horrible accident with. Mojo eventually skipped over to yip at Sam's feet, though his master was too distracted to notice. Chase had yet to acknowledge their presence, either oblivious to them or outright ignoring them as she spoke on the phone.

"Yeah, Sam's temporary guardian is here- got here a little bit before I did…" she was quiet for a moment to listen to Judy, and then laughed. "No, it's not the big one with the flames. I think you'd get a kick out of who they sent, actually- _ah, shit_!" She reared back as a piece of bacon spat a stream of burning grease up her arm. _"Shit, shit, shit, that hurts!" _

Hound swooped in to catch the phone before it smashed on the floor, slipping it to his ear as if he'd been human all his life. "Hello? Hello? Ah, nah, Judy, she's fine. Bacon just bit her, is all," he assured kindly, moving to the sink to run a dishcloth under cold water. "Oh, me?" he laughed. "Ah'm Hound, an Autobot. Nice ta meet ya."

"Give me back the phone!" Chase demanded. When she stretched out her hand to further her demands, she was caught by the wrist and dragged forward. Using his superior strength and speed to his advantage, Hound spun his struggling friend around to pin her back to his chest, and then, with the utter nonchalance of someone who did this everyday, he expertly pinned one arm to her side and yanked out the other to apply the cold cloth.

Miraculously, the phone stayed at his ear the whole time. "Haha, no, Ah'm speaking through a hologram, actually," he continued with Sam's mother. "Ah'm far too big ta fit into your house otherwise."

Like a cornered animal snapping at the hands trying to help it, Chase snarled and wriggled for her release. Hound remained as immoveable as stone, countering her every attack with one designed to block but not harm. Eventually, she sagged in defeat. Certain that she wasn't going whip his kind gesture back in his face, Hound released her.

"You could have just handed it to me," Chase grumbled rottenly, unwilling to show how grateful she was for Hound's thoughtfulness.

"Ah could of, but Ah didn't. Now ya better hope it doesn't blister," Hound chastised fondly, again displaying an amazing mimicry of humanity. He jumped when he heard an enquiring voice in his ear, having tuned out Judy's voice for an astrosecond. "Oh, sorry- yeah, Judy, Ah was talking ta Chase. She was kicking up a bit of a fuss."

"I was not!" Chase snorted. "Give me the phone, will you? You'll have to look after the shit on the stove."

The prospect was too good to pass up. "Alright, ya got yourself a deal," and then into the phone, he said, "nice talkin' ta ya, Judy. Here's Chase back." He exchanged the phone for the spatula; all traces of his human act disappeared as he eagerly began to prod everything within reach, the occasional blue-tinted scan escaping him.

"Just don't burn anything," Chase sighed. "-Hey, yeah, it's me again. Sorry about that- yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I got something cold on it now…" She paused to listen to Judy some more, a sudden smirk curling across her face. "Sam, eh?" Piercing black eyes swung around, finally acknowledging the teens with a look that said she knew _exactly_ what kind of fun they had had last night. "By the looks of things, I'd say he's been doing _real well_ by himself here," she said, causing both teens to flush. Her smirk turned into an all out grin. "You wanna _talk_ to him, eh?"

Sam made a choking noise, desperately motioning that he did not want to talk.

Chase sniggered. "Awww, well, you're just gonna have to call back later. Whoever- I mean _whatever_ he was doing last night must have really tuckered him out. He's still upstairs, _asleep_." She laughed sharply. "I'll be sure to leave a note saying you called. Bye, Judy." The phone was clicked off and set back in its cradle. Chase put her back to them for a moment, her movements deliberately slow as she adjusted the damp cloth on her arm, letting the teens sweat out the situation a little longer.

"So…" She suddenly rocked around on her heels to pin Sam with a knowing look. "Have fun violating my niece last night?"

"I- I uh….." Feeling as if his face were on fire, Sam could do nothing but realize how utterly exposed he was in front of his again-girlfriend's aunt. Using his skateboard to cover himself did little to make him feel better. He might as well have been naked in a spotlight.

Mikaela, thankfully, was far less embarrassed to be under her aunt's scrutiny. "You know what, Chase?" she asked, cocking a confident smile. "We _did _have fun last night."

"Well, ain't that sweet," Hound intoned kindly, causing both females to laugh and for Sam to groan painfully.

"Thanks, Hound," Mikaela replied happily, giggling. A part of her pitied Sam's embarrassment, but it was yet another cute way that showed how differently they'd been raised; he saw sex as something that remained behind closed doors, and she saw it as something to be discussed at the dinner table.

Chase cast a laughing breath through her nose. "Bah, what do I care? So long as you had fun, kiddo."

"Time of my life," Mikaela assured, kissing Sam's shoulder for emphasis.

"I'm sure it was the best two minutes of your life." She barked when Mikaela playfully sneered _'don't be jealous.' _"I get my kicks when I can," she replied, and then gestured to their collective lack of clothing, "But what I _really_ want to know what the hell you think you're doing down here dressed like that. What if Hound and I had been a couple of burglars, huh? Looking like that, you're a gang-bang waiting to happen."

"I have a skateboard…" Sam pointed out piteously.

"Lot of good that would do you." Chase shook her head exasperatedly, tired of having a half-naked boy staring at her like she was the one prancing around in her skivvies. "You, boy, are gonna get some pants on right now. And _you_-," she brandished a pointed finger at her naked-except-for-a-sheet niece, "get _something_ on for god's sake. It's nearly noon." When they didn't move fast enough, she barked, "_Move!_"

Hound chuckled at the haste with which the younglings left, sliding scrambled eggs and crisp strips of bacon onto plates to cool. "Ya enjoyed that way too much," he admonished humouredly.

"So what if I did?" Chase replied, a smirk lighting her features. "Ain't nothing wrong with having a little fun once in a while."

The hologram made a snorting noise, moving one pancake off the skillet and applying a new round of batter in its place.

Thankfully, Sam and Mikaela were speedy getting dressed and were back downstairs in less than a minute. Sam came in sporting jeans and a t-shirt while Mikaela wore stolen pyjama pants and a tanktop that was hopefully hers or else Chase was going to question Sam's sexuality more than she already did. They cut straight for the island to perch on the barstools there. The awkward silence that lingered reached nearly-painful proportions as Chase leaned over the opposite side of the counter and stared at the teens, mocking them with her _I-know-you-had-hot-dirty-teenaged-sex-last-night-and-I'm-going-to-torrement-the-shit-out-of-Sam-for-fun _grin. Mikaela looked like she wanted to go in for a pre-emptive attack, be resisted for Sam's sake. Poor Sam still looked partially traumatized.

"Ah bet y'all are hungry!" Hound suddenly announced, dropping two plates in front of the younglings. He could only guess at what they would eat, so he gave them a little bit of everything, even kind enough to pour orange juice for them because a video on YouTube suggested it. Once the younger ones were seen to, he put together a third plate for Chase and slid it in front of her.

"Not hungry," she grunted, shoving it away.

"Don't care," Hound countered, shoving it back. He knew by the contents of her stomach that she hadn't eaten since the day before, just as he also knew she was going to put up a fight over taking food away from the younglings. Because she was his friend, he didn't give her a choice. "Eat it 'cause ya haven't seen me in a couple weeks and ya just wanna make me happy."

She narrowed her eyes in defiance, but gave up when Hound refused to back down. Mikaela seemed to take particular interest in the exchange, but ducked her head when Chase sent her a livid stare.

Taking a few bites of his scrambled eggs to steady himself, Sam found his center and fixed his girlfriend's aunt with an incredulous stare. "What the heck are you doing _in_ _my house_?"

"Your mother asked me to check up on you," came the reply. She took a mouthful of toast, chewed, swallowed, and then said, "You didn't seem to have a problem with it the last few days I came over."

Sam paled, eyes going wide. "Y-you _what_? How'd you get in?"

"Picked the lock," Chase shrugged. Mikaela had to smack Sam's back as he choked on his juice, and even then, a gross dribble of it ran out of his nose. Chase laughed as Sam mopped up his mess. "I was _kidding, _you idiot. Your mother gave me the keys. Even if you got alien backup around here, Judy just wanted to make sure you had a human to fall back on." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Haven't you noticed the dishes and laundry being done in the morning when you get up?"

An embarrassed, slightly disturbed, silence followed. "…um, no?" To be perfectly honest, he was so used to having the dishes and laundry magically done by his mother that he never noticed the pattern continuing without her.

"That's sad, boy," Chase snorted.

"How come Judy never told Sam you were coming here?" Mikaela asked suspiciously.

"How should I know? Do I look like Judy to you?"

Mikaela pursed her lips. "How come _you_ never said anything?"

Chase shrugged uncaringly. "Didn't think it was important. It's not like it's anyone's business if I choose to do a favour for anyone." With her continued attitude of nonchalance, she jerked her chin in Sam's direction. "Where'd you get that shiner, kid? It looks like a keeper."

Sam let his incredulity drop, finding the strength for a less-than-pleased frown. "Trent."

Recognizing the name, Chase scowled. "DeMarco?"

"Yeah."

Chase pushed away from her plate, marching around the island to get a better look. Hound came on her heels worriedly. Sam wished the Autobot had gotten to him first, knowing he would have been gentle. Instead, Chase jerked his head back by the hair, yanking his band-aid off to see the full extent of the damage.

"Well, fuck me," she whistled, eyeing the angry gouge darkly. "At least that explains the bloody bag of peas in the living room."

"It's been cleaned and properly treated; no signs of infection, and it should heal on its own without stitches," Hound announced, scanning the area thoroughly.

Chase sighed, releasing Sam's hair. "What you do, kid? Decide to stop his fist with your face?"

"No, he decided I looked too pale, so he gave me a little colour," Sam retorted, pouting as he nursed his abused head.

She cocked an eyebrow. "And you're just the kind of person nice enough to stand still long enough for him?"

Sam frowned, gaze narrowing. "I figured it was the least I could do, seeing as all those concussions he's gotten from sports have left him only one food group above being a vegetable."

Mikaela intervened before a verbal war broke out. She fixed her aunt with a hard look. "It was just a fight, okay? Trent took a swing and Sam swung back. Trent got what was coming to him." Broken nose and all.

"_He-,"_ Chase gestured disbelievingly to Sam, _"beat Trent?"_

"Yes," Mikaela hissed. She didn't mention that it was more like an accident that Sam won.

An alien expression suddenly lit Chase's face; she looked truly _pleased_ with the news. "So you've got some spine after all, kid," she said warmly, mussing Sam's hair with friendly affection. "That little shit deserves whatever he got. Good for you, Sam."

"Um… anytime?" He was acutely aware that that was the first time Chase has ever called him by name. Not pansy, not boy, not kid. _Sam._ He had the distinct feeling he had just won Chase's highest praise.

"Ah can't believe Bumblebee allowed something like this to happen," Hound admonished.

"Boys will be boys, Hound. You get used to it," Chase shrugged, pushing the hologram back around the counter so they no longer loomed over the teens. For the rest of the meal, Sam was left to discover a new side to his girlfriend's aunt he didn't think existed: a _nice _side. It even stretched as far as her gathering up the dishes after they'd eaten and throwing them in the sink, running the water to wash them.

Feeling guilty because he knew she'd been doing all that stuff for the last couple mornings, Sam hopped up to take over. "I'll do those-."

"Don't worry about it," Chase cut him off, waving a wet hand. "My treat."

"What are you going to do? Spit in the dishwater while we're not looking?" Mikaela teased.

"Don't tempt me, girly," Chase warned laughingly, swilling the plates around without mind to her burn. Hound helpfully stepped up beside her with a dishtowel, bumping her with his hip to let her know he was going to dry.

"Ah'll make sure she behaves," he intoned, laughing when Chase elbowed him.

"My hero," Mikaela joked. She sighed contentedly, scooting her stool closer to Sam's side so she could lean against him. With Chase's back to them, he wasn't embarrassed to have Mikaela cuddle up to him. He even dropped a little kiss to the crown of her head, nuzzling her soft hair. Feeling the need for a little conversation, Mikaela peered over at Hound's hologram. "How were the Himalayas, Hound?"

The hologram shrugged, setting down one dried plate and picking up the next. "Ah've seen many different mountain ranges in my life time, so it's hard ta say that it was anything new. But, there was a certain beauty to them Ah did appreciate."

"And the cold didn't bother you?" she wondered, thinking of Megatron as the Ice Man.

"It's not the cold that's the problem, dearspark, it's the precipitation," the hologram chuckled. "We can survive temperatures as cold as space itself, but once ice starts building up in our frames- that's when we start running into problems. It wouldn't have been pretty if Smokescreen and Ah froze up during a Decepticon attack."

"Did you end up finding many Decepticons out there?" Sam wondered concernedly.

The dishtowel was waved carelessly. "Naw, turns out by the time we got there, the Autobots that landed had already dispatched them. And they weren't even full-fledged Decepticons to start with, just 'Con drones."

"That's good, isn't it?" Sam pressed.

"Oh yeah, good, but kinda strange. According ta the others- Trailbreaker, Pathfinder, Punch, Knockout, and Dealer- the drones came right out of nowhere just outside the atmosphere. They didn't even see them coming. Blaster's been scanning the skies nonstop since the debriefing, but he can't find a trace of Decepticon activity out there, not even an exhaust trail from a ship."

"Maybe the drones were left there by Starscream?" Mikaela offered.

Hound nodded, having already discussed the many possibilities with his comrades. "Even if the drones were left there, why attack now? Why not attack when easier targets were landing, like Blaster or Wheeljack? It doesn't make sense for drones to lay in wait for such an extended period of time only ta make the logistical error of engaging an enemy with a greater threat value than previous ones."

Mikaela bit her lip, glancing to Sam unsurely. "So, either the drones were programmed to be suicidal, or…"

"Or there's a Decepticon ship out there with drones on it that you Autobots _can't_ find, one that came here recently," Chase concluded.

Hound sighed, confirming Chase's assumption. "If there is a new ship out there, it's the most advanced design Ah've ever come across. Not a space distortion or ion trail in sight. According to our scans, there's _nothing_ out there at all. Even the _Uller_ wasn't that perfect." He noted the new tension in the room, cursing the fact that he shouldn't have burdened the younglings with something so dreary. "Ah'm sure it's nothing ta worry about, though," he intoned quickly. "Wherever those drones might have come from, we know they're out there now an' we can prepare for another attack if more come."

Sam was hardly put at ease. "If you can't even find the ship…"

"We will," Hound assured firmly. "No design infallible. Sooner or later, if someone is out there, they'll make a mistake, and we'll get 'em. We've got the numbers to do it now, too. The Autobots we just picked up plus the ones Optimus and the others left to meet. And between you an' me, the ones that are landing soon are some of the meanest fighters Ah've ever seen. They'll have the Decepticon shakin' in their shells in no time."

Sensing Hound's attempt to lighten the mood, Chase flicked a handful of bubbles at him. "Good to know there are _some_ Autobots out there with attitude, because you couldn't scare a basket of kittens even if you tried."

There was a moment of disbelief, and then Hound caught on to the joke and embraced it, shaking the bubbles off like a dog. "Ah don't know about that, Chase- _you _were pretty darn scared of me when we first met."

"I wasn't scared," she huffed. "I was suspicious. There's a difference."

"Riiiiiight, if that's what ya want ta call it." He snuck up behind her and lifted her easily, garnering a shriek of surprise. "Admit it, mah squishy little friend- you were scared of the big bad scary transformer." He hefted her over his shoulder like sack of potatoes. "You thought Ah was big an' mean an' terrifyin', didn't ya?"

Chase wriggled uselessly. "You were hurt and helpless and needed me to do everything for you!"

Hound jostled her, heartened by Mikaela and Sam's laughter as he played. Even Chase was snorting with good-natured mirth, although that could have just been the blood going to her head.

"Ya couldn't look at me without wantin' ta wet your pants!"

"I'm _falling_ out of my pants right now!" she whined, legs flailing wildly. Why couldn't she have worn a damn belt today?

"If ya just quit squirming an' admit that Ah'm a terrifying alien, Ah'll put ya down," Hound laughed, jostling around some more.

Pride prevented her from doing so. "You're a big metal puppy dog!"

"Fine, be that way." He started wriggling her worse than before.

"Grow up, you two!" Mikaela wheezed, tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard. The sheer bizarre hilarity of the whole situation was making her sides ache, her cheeks hurting from grinning so much. To make the situation worse, an AC/DC ringtone started chiming, followed by Chase gasping as she realized who might be calling.

"Shit, I'm late for work! Hound, you gotta put me down! That's probably Geary right now!"

"Don't worry, Ah'll answer it. You're busy," Hound intoned, reaching up to dig into her back pocket. Her whole body went rigid.

"_That's not my pocket!" _

"Oops, sorry." He withdrew, snatching her cell phone on the second try. "Hello? Geary? …No, ya got the right number, just not the right person… Haha, yeah, it's me, Hound."

Chase started twisting, trying to turn around on herself to grab her cell. "I'm gonna kick you in the face if you don't let me go!"

In retaliation, Hound let her drop off his shoulder before catching her by the knees, letting her hang helplessly. "Yep, that's her in the background. She's a little _hung up_ right now, but Ah'm more than happy ta take a message."

"I'm warning you!"

"What's that? Make sure she _don't_ come in ta work today? She's been wracking up your overtime, eh? Well, that's not a good thing."

"_I'm serious!"_

"Well, Ah'll be sure to pass the message along, Geary. Primus- Ah mean _God_ knows, Ah've been away for a while an' was hoping ta spend some time with her, anyways. …Hahahaha, oh no, we're just friends. We're a little too- uh, _different_ for each other's tastes."

"Fine! You asked for it!"

"Bye Geary, nice talkin' ta- _Ack-!"_

A heavy body hit the floor headfirst, crumpling with a pained groan. Hound leapt away out of terror, backing himself into the cupboards so as not to present the intended target again.

"You- you _bit_ me!" he exclaimed.

Chase heaved up, wiping her mouth against the back of her hand. Holographic pants tasted about as good as real pants. "Believe me, it was no picnic for me either."

Sam put his face in his hands, shaking in pure disbelief. "Can you guys take this outside before something gets broken?" he begged.

Hound looked to the younglings, then to Chase, and then decided since he was several millions years their senior, he was going to be the mature one. "Sam's right, we shouldn't be roughhousing in his place. Plain rude of us, it is."

"You're the one who was jerking me around," Chase grumped, stomping for the door.

He trotted after her, snagging her by a belt loop. "An' where do ya think you're going?"

"Work," she grunted.

"Not after your boss just asked ya not ta go." He looped and arm around her. "Ah just got back from the Himalayas, so you're gonna spend the day with me."

A zing of suspicion shot through her. Hound was an Autobot scout skilled in espionage and warfare, so it wasn't beyond his ability to orchestrate something as underhanded as phoning up her boss and asking him to give her the day off. Geary had been practically seething for a good excuse to kick her out of the garage for a few days so he wouldn't have to deal with the ridiculous amount of overtime she was putting in.

Taking her silence as continued resistance, the hologram laid his forehead to hers and stubbornly set his chin. "Ah'll make ya come screaming if Ah have to," he threatened.

And just like that, all suspicion was replaced with a look of _'oh my god, did he __**really**__ just say that?'_ Oh yes, he did. She cracked a smirk. "_Come screaming_, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Now you're making an offer I just can't refuse." It was even funnier because he didn't have a damn clue about the double entendre. Hound simply saw Chase's submission and happily took it at face value, like the terribly uninformed alien that he was.

"Ah'd make good on it if Ah had to," he warned playfully.

"I'm sure you would," Chase replied, failing to say it with a straight face. She let herself be guided to the front door, only to stop when Sam trotted after them confusedly.

"Wait, isn't Hound my temporary guardian until Bee gets back?"

The scout chuckled, and from the driveway the sound of his engine growling to life could be heard. "Nope, Ah simply volunteered ta come in ta town ta drop your designated guardian off, among other things."

Sam looked around as if said guardian would appear out of nowhere. "So, where is he?"

"Upstairs." And then Hound emitted a musical shriek. Immediately after came the sound of something rolling along the upstairs hallway followed by-

_Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk- _

"Meep meep!"

Sam stared blankly at the honking vacuum he'd rammed his shin into earlier. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope. Everyone agreed that the threat level against your life is currently low, so we decided Tungsten would be perfect for now. It will alert us immediately if anything happens. In the meantime-," Hound dug into Chase's side pocket before he could be stopped, procuring her car keys, "you take these and have fun with Mikaela and Tungy today!" The hologram then dissipated into pixels, his real self blaring his horn for Chase to hurry up and get inside him.

Chase spared a moment for one last semi-kind deed, grasping Sam's shoulder firmly. "You're a good kid, Sam. I'm glad Mickey's back with you." The moment lasted all but a second, and then she spun around and yelled out the front door- _"Hold your damn horsepower, you alien Nazi! I'm coming!"

* * *

_

The drive through Tranquility had been peaceful enough.

They didn't go anywhere particular, nor did they have the urge to do anything of significance. It was just nice to be in each other's company, silent except for the country station Hound insisted they listen to. For once, Chase said nothing about his choices in music. Instead, she watched the world roll by through his windshield.

"I don't see why you want to spend the day with me," she said, but not in the demure fashion of one who was fishing for compliments. She said it as if it were an annoyance that she was being dragged out.

"Ah just want ta," Hound replied merrily.

He might not have been able to see her in his cab, but he sensed her rolling her eyes. "_Why?_ Don't you have some scouting to do, or Decepticons to fight? I _know_ you have transformer buddies on base you can bug instead of me."

"Ah'm off duty for a few orns, and, yes, Ah do happen ta have friends on base." His engine made a strange sound, like it was gearing down. "Whether you're organic or robotic makes no difference ta me. Ah like seeing you as much as Ah like seeing Smokescreen, only Ah get so see him any old time and the only time Ah get ta see you is when Ah hide in your shed-."

"-_or_ when you fuck around with my boss and make him give me the day off."

"Ah never said that."

"I'm not stupid, Hound," she grumped, crossing her arms stubbornly.

He sighed. "Alright, alright, Ah _might_ have called beforehand and dropped a hint or two-," he paused as Chase landed a kick to the center of his dash, "but it's not like ya didn't need the break."

"I _like_ working, thank you very much. Keeps me occupied."

A deep rev vibrated the cab. "Then Ah'll just have ta keep ya occupied today."

Eventually, Chase made the mistake of dozing off against Hound's steering wheel. When next she woke up, she found herself on the Autobot base, plopped on Hound's shoulder as he made his way down into the subterranean part of the base. Not the super-top-secret underground part wayyyyyy down, but the big hole they dug underneath the main base and claimed it as a 'robots only' zone.

There weren't a lot of lights in their big hole, so even with her eyes open, Chase couldn't see much. Every couple hundred feet, a tiny bare light bulb dangled from the earth above, casting weak light across misshaped sheet-metal buildings jutting from the blasted-out dirt walls. They passed many darkened doorways, and if Chase looked to have an interest in what was beyond, Hound would either shine his headlights in for her, or simply tell her of the insignificant purpose it served. Most of the buildings were more like wishful thinking, hoping someday there would painters, maintenance crews, and other kinds of civilian bots to fill them. Until that orn, their underground space was a ghost town.

There were two places in particular he wished to show his human friend, both semi-completed.

"Nebula Two," he announced as the came to their first destination, pushing passed the swinging aluminum doors into the dim space. Three walls were actually made of compacted dirt, some of it blackened as if someone had taken high-powered cannons to them.

"What happened to Nebula One?" Chase asked, curious.

"It's… gone."

"Oh."

There were lights inside the structure, but more like an alien concept of neon lights rather than the traditional light bulb. Zigzagging lines of bright blue light threaded over the ceiling and down the walls, illuminating the series of makeshift tables and chairs designed for the awkward proportions of robots who transformed into cars. An active screen took up most of one wall, tester images flashing across it as Blaster worked to fine tune the tint and contrast. In tandem with that task, he was also playing with the numerous speakers hanging from the shadowed ceiling, snatches of music carrying through the large expanse.

A few mechs looked up as Hound entered, one of them waving. Some of the faceplates Chase recognized from her short stay with the scout after her episode. The others she could only guess as the Autobots from the Himalayas.

Strangely, Hound seemed to be in some kind of hurry to get through the place. He set Chase on a table where two mechs were sitting, wandering off for something at the far end of Nebula Two. The mechs Chase were left with were friendly enough, one introducing himself as Trailbreaker, the other being Pathfinder. A few words were exchanged, mostly them expressing how nice it was to meet the little human who'd helped Hound. Another bot, this one bubblegum-blue with an unidentifiable alt mode, came over to express how surprised he was that anyone would bring a human underground into "their space", though he was pleased to meet her anyways. Dealer had been his designation, and when he tried to shake hands instead of just touching, he nearly took Chase's arm out of its socket.

Hound came back not long after that, a small cube of energon clutched in one hand. Still anxious to get to where he most wanted to be, he said a few words to all the bots, and then made his exit with Chase in hand.

"Did anyone hurt you?" he asked worriedly when he saw her holding her shoulder.

"No, just one bot being really enthusiastic," she said, rolling the joint. Something cracked in a way that made Hound pull a disturbed face, and then everything felt better. "You mind letting on why we're down here? Your quarters are above ground, and so are all the usual things you like to do."

"There's something Ah want to show ya down here," he insisted, pressing on. For her sake, he quickened his step through the dirt-streets.

"Couldn't you have shown me above ground?"

"No, not this- not the full effect of it, anyways." There was a nervous little twitter to his voice that made Chase even more curious as to where they were going and why.

"You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?"

"Let it be a surprise." It was another few minutes of navigating the impossibly huge cavern before they came upon a set of very large doors, different from the rest. They were reinforced steel, heavy looking, and when Hound input the code to open them, the hydraulics groaned painfully with their burden.

Leaning against the cool armour of Hound's head, Chase squinted through the gloom in hopes of seeing more than a wall of darkness. A click behind her heralded a set of lights blazing to life overhead, and then a track of lights flicked on after that, and another after that, until the new cavern was filled with the stark white glow of powerful flood lights. Wherever Hound had brought her, it was a very _huge_ place- worth the size of several Olympic stadiums, and vaulted several stories high. The floor was a puzzle of riveted metal slabs, as were parts of the walls, and along the ceiling. Bulkheads jutted from rockbeds to reinforce the structure; there were a lot of reinforcement measures in place, meaning the arena was meant to take a beating. Several dozen identical machines hung from various calculated spots, their purpose indiscernible.

"Is this the surprise?" Chase wondered sceptically. She liked taking in alien technology as much as the next person, but big empty rooms with dangling techno-dribble just didn't tickle her fancy much.

"Part of it," Hound replied, setting her down on the hard metal floor. In one fell swoop, he finished his energon cube and set the empty container away in subspace. "This is our firing range-slash-training room. Ah've been working on the holographic projectors in here ever since Ah was brought ta base."

Chase's gaze drew to the devices she could not identify previously, designating them as the projectors. She had a strange feeling that Hound meant something important by bringing her here.

"Ah've also been working on what program Ah should use to test run the projectors, an' now that it's finished, Ah want ta show ya."

There was a sense of déjà vu as he said the words, said in the same manner he had spoken in when he had wanted to show her his human hologram design. This time, though, she had the distinct feeling that something a lot _bigger_ was going to happen.

"Alright, let's see it," she said weakly.

His optics flashed, a mix of anxiousness and excitement crossing his faceplate. A panel on the nearby wall hissed open, revealing a series of complicated controls and an interface hook-up. From Hound's shoulder, he pulled a black cable and inserted it into the port.

"This might not work, so bear with me…"

In that exact moment, the lights dimmed and the projectors hummed to life. A grid of light activated over the arena, and then the holo-matter emitters switched on and filled in the grids with a pure whitewash to cover everything. Hound sighed, happy to know at least the easiest part of the process went off without a hitch. Now he hoped the program he was downloading didn't overload the grid and set them all back months of reconstructing.

A full minute passed before the computers processed the program, and then a new world began to coalesce. The section of floor Chase stood on began to rise in a great semicircle, metal pillars growing from the outer curve, curling and twisting in such a natural way that it looked as if they were poured to be that way. From their tips, a web of golden latticework grew, crisscrossing in a great dome overhead, and then filled in with panes of sparkling crystal. The floor became a polished metal, so finely treated that it shone like a mirror, reflecting the shining blue lights that curled up several of the pillars of the dais. Beyond the dais was what Chase could only describe as a metal sculpture garden, twisting figures of alien designs flowing and bending in a frozen dance. Hovering blue lights drifted between the rows, following a snaking golden walkway that stretched far beyond a human's line of sight. The closest of the sculptures was what looked to be a fountain, but water did not run from it, liquid mercury did.

A strange emotion clenched in Chase's chest as she absorbed the new world being presented to her. The detail Hound had gone into in order to create the place… She could hardly breathe from the sheer beauty of it. Every detail glistened with loving care. It was a mechanical paradise of heavenly proportions, and even if she had never seen the place, there was only one planet in the galaxy she could imagine looking like this.

"Is this Cybertron?" she wondered quietly, looking back to see Hound's answer. She was surprised to find him gone, his place taken up by carved doors of crystal-and-gold latticework.

"No, this is one of Cybertron's moons," came Hound's smooth voice, emanating from her other side. She spun around to find a scaled down hologram of him standing next to her, smiling oddly as he pointed upwards through the crystal roof above. "_That's_ Cybertron."

She followed his finger, gasping as she took in the shining mechanical wonder hanging larger than life in the sky. "Oh my god…" If her surroundings had been beautiful, then what she could see of Cybertron itself was _breath-taking_. It was all metal and light, so huge in the sky that there was nothing else to look at. Even if it was only a hologram, the sheer size of it made her feel as if she were being drawn in by its gravitational force. It was like nothing she had ever seen before- there were cities so huge she could see them from the moon, lights so bright they lit the surface into rainbows. Life itself looked to be pulsing from the metal techno-sphere.

Absolutely awestruck with what Hound was showing her, Chase had to drop her gaze before it overwhelmed her. A metal hand on her shoulder eased the intensity of it.

"Hound, your world is amazing."

"You've been so kind as ta show me your home, so Ah thought Ah'd show ya mine," Hound explained, his optics deepening to a warm shine. He curled a blunt finger under her chin, guiding her gaze back to the sculpture garden on the moon. Just as Hound had scaled himself down, Chase belatedly realized everything else in the program was to her size as well. "This is where Ah lived when Ah wasn't studying off-world."

"I never imagined a place like this could exist," Chase whispered reverently, not even knowing why she was whispering. "It's so... perfect."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely. "Sadly, none of this exists anymore, but Ah thought it'd be nice ta try and recreate it from memory."

Movement caught her eye, so she moved to get a better look over the side of the dais. Two sleek, alien vehicles came into view, one ice-blue and covered in a latticework of silver webs, and the other painted a plain forest-green. They were chasing a singular hovering craft that zigzagged around the yard wildly. Chasing turbofoxes had always been Mirage's favourite pastime, and it didn't seem right to recreate his friend's estate without featuring a little bit of turbofox fun.

Without having to be told, Chase knew who she was looking at. "That's you," she nodded to the green craft.

"Yes, an' the blue one is Mirage." He gave a grand sweep of the whole gallery. "This is his estate. Before the war, he used to be mah sponsor, paying for all mah expeditions."

Playful laserfire streaked the air, aimed for the turbofox they were chasing. One bright blue lightning bolt hit it, sending the poor craft to the ground. Its pursuers weren't fast enough to avoid it, Hound's past-self driving over it clumsily. New movement to the side announced the entrance of a new bot; it was smaller than the mechs, with slimmer, sharper features and treated with a paint that smouldered as a deep, deep wine-red. It went to the aid of the damaged turbofox, and after a moment of assessing it to determine the level of damage, the unnamed bot got up and starting yelling at Hound and Mirage's holograms, shaking its fists and all.

"Who's that one?" Chase enquired, fascinated by the new Cybertronian and entertained by the fact that it was duking it out with bots over half its size.

Hound paused, looking as if he didn't know whether or not to let the simulation continue. When Chase looked to him, he knew he couldn't keep the truth from her. "That's _you_."

"Me?"

Hound joined her at the railing, leaning against it comfortably as he watched his program play out. Everything was working relatively well; depth, mass, reaction, refraction, and colour were all operating within satisfactory levels. But it was not the holograms he was most concerned with. His concern lay with his human friend and how she would take his admission.

"Ah wanted ta see what you would look like if your spark had come from the Allspark instead of being made human."

She licked her lips, finding her mouth suddenly dry. "Why?"

"Ah was curious."

"You were curious…" Finally, Chase managed to tear her eyes away from the creature that was supposed to be her, coming to focus on the intensely nervous looking Hound. She couldn't help but feel endeared by the hapless look he was giving her- halfway between apologizing for doing something so stupid and admitting that he'd never do it again. To stop the speil before it began, she laid a hand to his faceplate, which looked so different now that it fit to the size of her palm. He'd done an excellent job recreating himself as a fraction of his own size. "Thank you," she breathed, saying it as sincerely as she could.

Relief painted Hound's features. "You're welcome. Ah was afraid you'd think Ah was some kind of deviant by doing this."

"You're still the same old Hound," she assured fondly, grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Ah suppose that's a good thing," he chuckled. Chase's Cybertronian model suddenly ended her programmed fight, trotting up the stairs and into the dais to stand in front of them. "Ah figured since Ah had a human hologram, it was only fair ta make ya a transformer one." As it turned out, making a human into a transformer was far easier than a transformer figuring out how to look human. The frame he had chosen was a femme frame- not for the fact that Chase was a female human and he thought she might be more comfortable with the frame type most often referred to as "she", but because he thought the level of specialization required for a femme was appropriate. It was an engineering model for obvious reasons, its armour thick but contoured, reinforced but not bulky. Had it not been scaled down, the femme would have stood at roughly 15 feet, no taller than Hound's sparkcase. The colour had been Hound's greatest indulgence, choosing a shade that not only looked aesthetically pleasing on Chase, but it also tended to bring out the depth of the green in his own paint.

"You did an amazing job designing me," Chase sighed, standing face-to-faceplate with herself. Curious fingers touched the neutral faceplate, which was not humanoid in design like Hound's. It had a snout-like structure, but it was hard to say it it resembled an animal of any kind. If she really had to guess, the faceplate might have looked like a fox, but on a really loose basis. She glanced to the side where Hound had come to stand at her elbow. "I wish I was built like this now. Being Cybertronian beats being an Earthling any day."

Hound chuckled. "Ah'd rather be human," he admitted quietly. "Ya don't know how lucky your species is ta be what ya are. But…" he paused for a moment, regarding her curiously, "at least Ah can make one of our wishes come true." He took her hand, squeezing it tight. _"Don't move."_

In the blink of an eye, the holographic femme shattered, its pixels hanging frozen in the air for a second before turning and heading straight for Chase. Frozen in shock at what she was watching happen, the hologram began reforming around her. The whole process took all of a few seconds, and when it was done, there was not a speck of humanity left in her appearance. Scanning the illusion carefully, Hound gave a nod of approval and stepped away.

"There, ya look perfect."

Looking down at her new hand, which was long and sharp and delightedly made of metal, she wiggled her fingers experimentally. Unfortunately, she moved too fast for the computers to keep up, her fleshy fingers breaking through the metal. Moving slower after that, she took a few experimental steps with her new feet. Her organic body was still there underneath, still felt like itself, but the look of metal overtop, the sound of metallic struts clicking against the floor, the hush of moving servos, was enough to make her unbelievably happy.

"If I'd of known you were going to do this for me this morning, I probably wouldn't have tried to kick you in the face," she said, optics shining.

"Ah didn't know Ah was gonna do it until an astrosecond ago," the Autobot replied, finding that he couldn't look away from her. It was still human-Chase, but with a frame he could relate to, a faceplate he could understand. She came back to him, taking his faceplate in her hands. The scaling he'd done for his own hologram made him only a little taller than her, which was probably the oddest thing for him out of the whole experience, seeing as mech and femme frames had vastly different height ranges.

"This is a way of saying '_thank you_' for your kind, isn't it?" she asked, bringing his forehead down to hers to copy the affectionate gesture he often indulged her with.

Hound laughed, nuzzling her gladly. "Not quite, but it works." He looped his arms around her in a surprisingly comfortable gesture, though it was harder to do as Cybertronians than it was for humans. Just as fast as he had made Chase a transformer, he changed the illusion so they were both human. Their foreheads were still touching. "Just like this is a way for you humans ta say '_Ah missed ya_.'"

He kissed her.

He kissed her for as long as he dared, enjoying the alien sensation greatly. Chase was surprisingly acquiescing during the ordeal, lips pliant as he tried to mimic a human kiss. He pulled back only when it occurred to him that he might be suffocating her. When he looked down to register her expression, he could not indentify the emotion on her face.

"Hound…" Her fingers touched her lips, looking down for a moment, and then looking back up to meet his gaze. Her tar-black eyes suddenly came alive with pure mirth. A snort rattled from her, followed by burst of laughter that rang high and loud off the walls of the holographic range. "That was _the __**worst**__ kiss_ I have ever had!"

Startled, Hound cracked a guilty smile, and then admitted, "Sorry, Ah've never had lips before. Ah'll have ta practise more ta get it right," which only made Chase howl louder.

"You ain't practising on me," she exclaimed, gripping his arm as she laughed. "Not only do you suck, _badly_, but your hologram tastes like a mouthful of pennies. _Yuck!_"

He laughed at himself. "Maybe if Ah don't open mah mouth next time?"

"Or how about you avoid _my_ mouth all together?" Chase suggested humouredly, patting his cheek. Her bout of laughter had been quick, dying down to residual tremors of good mirth, but still her eyes shone when she looked at him. "_This_ is more like how friends say they missed each other." She pecked him on the cheek, which last less than a second. "Or we could just stick with the forehead thing- at least we both get that."

A noise in the doorway startled them apart. Mirage stood where the gold-and-crystal doors should have been, returned to its original dirt-and-metal appearance. The Master Spy's optics were glass-sharp as he regarded the two humans, one real and the other fake, before turning to the side where he knew the real Hound was lurking.

"Blaster blew out a holo-emitter in Nebula Two and was hoping you could come fix it."

Hound's large form pealed away from the illusion, disconnecting from the computer and ending the program all together. He looked embarrassed to have been caught, even if he and Chase had been doing nothing wrong. "Oh, alright then…" He looked to Chase, who was suddenly very sober with the entrance of the new transformer. Her tar-black eyes were unreadable as she looked the Master Spy over, and then she flicked her hand at Hound in an obvious dismissal.

"Go. I'll find my own way back."

Hound tossed away the option immediately. "Ah ain't gonna do that. Least that could happen is ya get lost, worst being ya get hurt."

"Then I will escort her to the above-ground facilities," Mirage volunteered coldly. There was a hidden agenda in his voice, a tone which only Hound recognized, but could say nothing as Mirage stared him down with the authority of being his commander.

"Alright, then. Ah'll be going…" He offered Chase a parting nod before slinking out the door in what could only be described as an escape. The silence that grew in Hound's absence was like needles across Chase's skin. She didn't like the way the new transformers was staring at her, but she recognized the paint scheme from the hologram program Hound had played for her.

"You must be Mirage," she said tightly, willing her face not to burn as the mech measured her with a hard stare.

"I am. And you are Chase." Aside from the frigidness of his optics, his faceplate and tone were neutral. He wasn't there to threaten, but that didn't mean he wasn't enough to make Chase's defences rise. There was something about the way he stared down at her that made her gut twist.

"Yeah, I am. What of it?"

Mirage's optics flashed. "You and Hound-."

"_Are friends,"_ she snarled curtly.

The mech relaxed fractionally. "Good. Stay that way."

The human recoiled, eyes flaring wide as he presumed to order her around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mirage shook his head, aloof in a manner that grated on the human's nerves. "As you've no doubt noticed, Hound invests himself in his interests more than he should, and definitely more than what is good for him. This time, he's invested himself in you."

"_I've noticed,"_ Chase spat bitterly.

"Then you have also no doubt noticed that you are an organic, one that will live for only fraction of his lifetime." Everything in Chase's body bristled, and it became hard to tell if she was burning hot or frigidly cold under Mirage's unblinking stare. The Master Spy continued, regardless of how the organic felt. "Hound has lost too much in his life already to be able to handle another great loss, should his spark become anymore attached to you than it already is."

"I said we're _just friends_," Chase reiterated. The venom in her voice would have had any human backing down, but it was impossible to intimidate someone who towered nearly 20 feet over you.

"And are you so naïve as to believe Hound will continue to see it that way if you continue building your friendship as you are? I know Hound in ways you will never be able to comprehend, and I know for a fact that he is the type to do something incredibly stupid if you were to allow your friendship with him to… _deepen_."

Knowing exactly what Mirage was talking about, and feeling sick to her stomach that she had allowed herself to be sucked into such a twisted thing in the first place, Chase clenched her fists, having a hard time looking in him in the optic. "Why come to me about this? What do you want me to do about it?"

Mirage inclined his head coolly. "I came to you because you are the one most likely to listen to me. I want you to never forget what you are, and what Hound is."

Chase cut a violent motion through the air. "You think it's _easy_ to forget the fact that I'm a smear of carbon compared to you guys?"

"From what I just saw? _Yes._"

"That was a mistake," Chase bit out. "Everything you just saw was a mistake." She didn't mean to get so comfortable with him- it just happened. Hound was too sweet of a guy not to let her guard down around him. Whether they were hanging out together as human and hologram or human and mech, he had a way about him that made it easy to forget how different they were and just see how nice it was to hang out in each other's company. But that was the fucked up part. He was Cybertronian and she was nothing but a dirty little Earthling. They were worlds apart whether they liked it or not, and it wasn't right to forget that. "I won't let it happen again."

"So long as you don't," Mirage rumbled solemnly.

"_It won't_. Your 'good friend' routine hasn't fallen on deaf organic ears," Chase snarled, her good mood completely replaced with something acrid, blackly poisonous in her veins. Bile worked its way up her throat. "There _is_ _nothing_, and there will never _be_ _anything_, between Hound and I. I'll make sure of it."

She spat at him bitterly before marching around his feet and disappearing into the darkness beyond.


	35. Light Shines Through

Urgh… this chapter was like one giant acid trip to write. x_x For anyone who thinks it's a good idea to try and live in Nightbeat's head for a few days while trying to write his character, just don't. It hurts your brain after a while. AND, you start talking yourself more than you already do. AND, you start seeing things as if they really are part of cosmic pattern, not that I don't already, but more so than I did before. So now, my friends, I think I'm a little crazier than I was before, which could be a benefit for writing this, but will undoubtedly make my lacking sanity suffer. O.o *sigh* But enough of that. Who wants to hear such silly little musings? You're here for a chapter, not a rant. Just let me get through a few notes and **Thank You Corner**, and you shall have your chapter. :)

_The pearl-painted youngling_- There is an accompanying WE one-shot called _Invisible Puzzle Pieces _that delves briefly into a specific part of Nightbeat's past. Everyone is welcome to read it, though it's not exactly necessary. :)

_The Fallen/Psi- _I have no doubt that a majority of you have seen ROTF already and have had your fill of the Fallen there, but as many of you have pointed out, WE has slowly become a universe of its own. The Fallen character you read of here is of my own imagining, uninfluenced from the movie. He's a lot more fun to write. :)

*********Special note****** **The one-shot feature that was the continuation of Chapter 33 has been written and posted, since there was a wonderful response from readers indicating that they would like to read it. It's entitled _Too Pretty for Me, _and I would love to hear feedback from anyone who is interested/requested it. :)

**Flameshield**- Thanks so much~ Chase and Hound are still just friends, but close friends at that, if Mirage hasn't ruined that for them.

**Litahatchee**- Oh Lita, Lita, Lita, I think we might have gotten some wires crossed in that first review of yours. ;P What I said "last chapter" I meant previous one… Silly me. ^^; But, no matter, we cleared up that funny on msn. xD But have I ever mentioned how wonderful you are, leaving that secondary review? When I meet you in person, you're getting a hug! xD Writing of Cybertron, of Hound, and of Chase, are such delights. I'm glad you enjoy it!

**Elita One**- lol~ Seeing as Hound has never had lips in his lip, he probably sucked **bad**. XD Don't mind Mirage, though- he's just a jealous racist.

**FunkyFish1991**- I vote for the Bonnie and Clyde pairing! XD But, yeah, Mirage is not Chase's favourite alien right now, nor is Chase Mirage's favourite. You'll have to excuse him- he's a jealous racist. -_- IT'S ONLY GOING TO BE 1 OR 2 MORE CHAPTERS!! DON'T HURT ME! O.O

**CoalTreasure**- Quite jealous, my dear, and rather racist towards organics. ^^;

**Jason M. Lee**- You're quite perceptive of Mirage's tone, aren't you? You're quite right- there's a smidgeon of jealousy.

**Kittisbat**- I'd say it's bound to leave a stinging mark. . Goodness, my dear, you have no idea how much I'm enchanted by your predictions. This one is just as wild as the last, but no less entertaining! :)

**Cynthia**- *sigh* Mirage does, unfortunately, have a point, but he's letting his racism and jealousy cloud his opinions. Two sentient beings from different races are perfectly capable of being friends with each other. I'm glad you think Chase and Hound are "cute". You tickle me pink with the praise~

**Bluebird Soaring- **Every good day has to be ruined by something, right? Murphy's Law and all that… . Mirage's jealousy and racism is not a pretty thing, but he'll be forced to eat it some day!

**Black Dragon**- Yeah, there was a little bit of telling off on both sides. Mirage deserves a telling off, if not a beating. ^^;

**Independent C**- A little premature, my dear, but surely there are some fond affections on both sides. They're still struggling with the idea of being _friends_ with someone from another, radically different, species. Your suggestion for a one-shot gets my writers senses tingling, though… *rubs hands together*

**Nitefyer**- Thank you so much! Cybertron was a rather fun piece of delight to envision, and I'm glad I could conjure a mental image for you. :) I'm so glad you enjoy my characterizations, as well.

**CuteKitten**- It truly was a fun and delightful chapter to simply write and explain things. :) You're rather perceptive of Mirage, though. I'm impressed! :D Just a not-so-subtle mixture of jealousy and racism going on there. He's having a hard time letting go of the old ways.

**Balrog Roike- **Sadly, Cybertronians have come to accept death with a resignation that only a human who has suffered the torture and rape of war would understand. But you're on the money with Mirage's behaviour- he feels a fondness for Hound, but he also retains the old racism of Cybertron against organics… OMG! Tungsten as clever and threatening as a slice of bread! That comment just made my life! XD

**Silveriss**- Thank you so much! Sometimes I worry that I put too much depth into them, to the point where others become sick of reading of their endless problems. ^^; Be as snarling mad with Mirage as you wish- he deserves your ire, the jealous, racist bastard that he is. .

**C-Wolfeh**- Oh wow, such high praise! I'm humbled~ Thank you so much! I'm so happy that enjoy this story arc and its prequel. I do hope you continue to enjoy. :)

**He03**- Oh my goodness, there are no words to describe how deeply honoured I am that you created your account in order to submit a proper signed review. There is no higher praise, I don't think. Thank you so much for the honour. I'm glad you enjoy Optimus and Elita's subplot, for it is about to become far more prominent within this arc. :) You're welcome to dabble in writing around the ideas, so long as you lay credit where credit is due.^^ Your suggestion for a one-shot concerning Elita's captivity has pique my interest, for sure. I'll be sure to consider it. :)

**Tears of Twisted Angels**- Yeah, well, so does Mirage and a number of other racist characters. Some people can't stand people from different races being friends.

**Lecidre**- Goodness, my friend, you have no idea how much I adore your review. *hugs* Chase and Hound are such a pleasure to write for, and devoting a chapter to simply having fun between them was a treat, one in which I'm glad others appreciate. :) Never mind Mirage's behaviour, though- he's still got a lot of issues wrapped up in his processor, like his jealousy and racism towards organics. Hopefully Chase will be able to overcome it in order to stay friends with Hound.

**Theshadowcat**- lol, whut?

Special credits to artists and friends alike who have inspired me, grown to be close friends, or otherwise are just plain awesome: **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte **and **FunkyFish1991.**

**As We Come Together  
In Which a Light Shines Through**

He had been left alone for longer than he could comprehend. Alone, alone, alone, with nothing more than blackness, rotting corpses, and a preternatural silence that hung like a physical weight in the air as company. Without sensors, without chronometers, without even a porthole with which he could see the stars by, he was ignorant to the passage of time. To the passage of anything, really. At best, he could only suppose he'd been left alone an orn, and at worst, he could guess forever had passed by without knowing.

But, in all fairness, he could not say he had been left completely to his own devices.

Elita was gone, yes. She had been gone since the moment he had opened his optics from the disturbed recharge he had fallen into. The sense that someone should have been screaming in the dead silence of the demon-ship returned tenfold as Nightbeat thought upon Elita's absence. The sick awareness that she was most likely enduring a torture unfathomable by any other living creature made his tanks churn in revolt. He tried not to dwell on what could be happening, finding that his processor prickled like ice-cold needles burrowing into the data, implanting vicious whispers of fates worse than death.

The thoughts that he knew could not be his own reminded Nightbeat that he was not alone. How could one possibility be alone on a ship that was one giant living monster?

When Nightbeat blinked, he caught glimpses of the Fallen's spectre self. It was wretched being that did his mythology justice, burning forever more with the damnation of his betrayal to his brethren. When the Fallen was near, all Nightbeat could hear was screaming in his head. The voices, his instinct, _hated _when the Fallen's raw consciousness was near. They called him _Entropy. Chaos_. They called the apparition many things. The Fallen did justice to them all. He was a gifted tormenter. Even when he was unseen, he could be felt. One was driven paranoid by strange noises in their audios, an odd brush along their plating, displaced thoughts in their processor; at any given time, it could have been the Fallen, or else their own minds were slowly driving them insane.

And even when the Fallen chose to stray to whatever other amusements his innards housed, Nightbeat was still not alone. The singular unblinking optic of a drone assured him in every waking moment that he was being watched. Shortly after that first exchange with Elita, the drone had come to stand beyond the force field of their cell and had never left. Never blinked. Perhaps it changed places with its fellows when Nightbeat wasn't looking, but for the most part it was no more than a splotch of dead light in an endless sea of nothing. Primus only knew what the drone was looking for.

_It is looking for what cannot be seen. _

Nightbeat cringed as the clash of noise in his head parted only long enough to have that one sentence ring true. It sounded more like a warning than the usual riddles and knowledge he already half-knew. Strangely, it was the first break in their screaming since he had first come online within the Fallen. With the constant assault of cacophony bearing down on his mental capacities, he was being worn to the quick. A headache had started joors ago- or was it orns?- and had yet to cease.

For once in his life, he was tired of riddles. He just wanted answers.

Disgusted and frustrated with himself, Nightbeat shoved to his feet. He could not outrun the voices, but he could certainly pace long enough to turn himself numb to them. Under his feet, rusted corpses crunched and cracked. Dirt scattered. If something sharp jammed into a break in his armour, Nightbeat made no move to acknowledge it. He kept moving, pondering on thoughts that were only half-formed.

A deeply nauseous sensation churned in the pit of his tanks, drawing him to turn around in search of the source. _Elita One._ Another deep-seated feeling of dread clenched his insides. Whatever was happening to her was going to be his fate, too.

While Elita may have survived all this time, it was unlikely he was going to be so lucky.

That thought alone made him angry.

What was the point of him coming here if all he was meant to do was die? What part of the puzzle did that serve? What greater purpose? How could he have been so naïve as to think he could have possibly done anything to save the captives of the Mastermind? No, correction; not Mastermind. _Shockwave_. Shockwave in league with the Fallen. Two horrible monsters working side-by-side. Monsters he had never had a hope of defeating or outsmarting. Nightbeat hated himself for his own stupidity. He fell right into their hands without even putting up a fight.

He spit a bitter laugh that sounded too loud and too harsh in the omnipresent silence. There were no echoes in the backwards universe of whatever pit the Fallen existed in, so as soon as he made the noise, it died.

Nightbeat couldn't even claim that he had thought of discovering the monsters' lair on his own. It had been whispered to him. He had been _drawn_ here. Of all the mysteries great and small, this had been the one that had pulsed in his energon like a poison. Before he had even known of it, there were things that had whispered to him. This had been the one great puzzle he _had_ to find. Now that he thought of it, had it ever really been his will at all? Had it been him who wished to find the Fallen, or had some other will been whispering in his audios all this time?

"That's it, isn't it? _You _want me to come here. It's been you all the time, hasn't it?"

Again his voice was too loud, too alien, too empty. A muted shush of diodes moving announced the drone was adjusting its optic. He waited for a break in the silent screaming to hear an answer, but none came that he could discern. That was answer enough for him.

A deep wash of violated betrayal filled him. "You brought me here to die!"

No acknowledgement came. A lash of anger flamed him. If he had been their puppet all this time doing their bidding, the least they could do was give him an explanation before they tugged his strings one last time.

So deep was the feeling of betrayal, Nightbeat failed to realize the thickening of the atmosphere around him. He was so numb already he did not notice the temperature drop below even the frigidness of space. Without sight, he did not see the cracks in his paint forming from the extremity. He forgot that it was not just himself and his damning voices. There were other things within the Fallen that lurked and watched, including the Fallen himself. Whatever watched him now was intensely interested.

"I _trusted _you! I swore when I was a youngling that I would listen to you! And this is how you repay me?" Drags of icy air seared his intakes as he heaved hard. The sudden onset of betrayal by his most trusted allies left him scorched, sick. Building fear and anxiety whirled up in the mess, pouring out like bile in his words. "When my Creator copied his programming into to me so I would hear you, did you know then that you wanted me to find the Fallen? Were you the ones who told my Creator to make me like him in the first place? Did you want me to die back then, too? Even before I was alive?"

Still not a word whispered to him. He failed to notice in his anger how distant even the screaming had become. As if something was holding them at bay.

A rush of insanity glazed over his reality, fuelling his next violent gesture. His foot came down on a rusted limb. The part was so old that it blew to dust. Had he been able to see it, there would have been a rust-coloured cloud taking to the air as metal disintegrated. He swung his fist as if trying to whip away the treasonous voices, but instead he hit a wall. He kicked out so hard that the tip of his foot, made brittle by the preternatural cold, cracked. Little notice was giving to the twisted neural wire that had been hit.

"Even when I didn't understand, I did what I thought you wanted! Were you just using me all this time? I was one of the few who could hear you! I believed in you! I trusted you _with my life_! And now that the universe is done with crazy, voice-hearing Nightbeat, you're going to get rid of me, is that it?!"

_**No! **__Wrong! You've got it all wrong!_

Nightbeat froze, distracted from his own rage. It was the acknowledgement he's been demanding, but he heard it as if from a great distance. In the new silence that came from his ceased ranting, he heard them all still calling out for him. Still screaming. They were so faint now that he had drowned them with his own thoughts. He had never noticed how distant they were slowly becoming. They sounded desperate to be heard through whatever veil was keeping them away.

"I can barely hear you now!"

They tried to shout louder, but all that happened was they became even more of a mess.

"What's wrong? What's happening?!"

Finally, three little words managed to whisper through.

_Chaos destroys Order! _

"_Chaos," _Nightbeat breathed, realizing how oppressive the darkness in his cell had truly become. The air had taken on a new staleness that was overpowering to the point of choking. Chaos. Entropy. The Fallen. Nightbeat suddenly felt very, _very_ cold inside. _"He's here."_

_Yes!_

The answer could have been nothing more than a sob on the wind, it was so quiet. They were being forced farther and farther away as every moment ticked by with growing terror.

_You were never brought to him to die! _they called, so desperate to get their words across that each syllable hissed. Had they not been the metaphorical cogs turning in the universe, Nightbeat would have almost thought them capable of crying. _You were brought here to make sure a part of you lives on! _

A tangible snap could be felt, and suddenly Nightbeat found that all was quiet within and without his head.

"No…" He stared hard through the darkness as if he could have seen where they went, his voices, but as expected, he saw nothing. He was looking for what couldn't be seen. _Looking for what couldn't be seen… _Sudden understanding hit him. The warning. The drone was looking for what couldn't be seen. Swinging back to the drone, Nightbeat noted no change in its stance, no perceivable gleaning that it had gained any knew knowledge from what it had just recorded. However, a malicious glee beamed down from all corners of the darkness. The drone was not the only one watching.

Feeling the physical terror of his spark plummeting, Nightbeat bent to the backwards law of the Fallen's internal universe. He shuttered his optics to see. Standing not even a breath away from his faceplate was the Fallen's spectre, grinning mad with a monstrous joy. Gasping, falling back, Nightbeat's optics shot open and the image of the Fallen disappeared. Panting hard like a rabid animal, he scrambled for footing and shoved himself upright, shuttering his optics again. This time the Fallen was near the edge of the cell, standing unnoticed in front of the blind drone. Once sure Nightbeat was watching him again, a wider grin split the monster's faceplate and beckoned Nightbeat forward. Nightbeat's frame moved without thought, walking through the pit-borne flame feeling nothing but numbing cold. Trapped by the monster's will, he could only crane his head away as the Fallen leaned in with a too-wide grin on its alien faceplate.

"What do you want from me?" Nightbeat asked, his voice cracking.

A wider-still smile came to that terrible faceplate. What first looked like a small mercy as the Fallen took a step back became another measure in horror as the spectre glided through the force field and _into_ the mindless drone. Possessed by a greater evil now, it stood and came to the very edge of the force field that separated them. A voice that one would not expect from a monster- eloquent and elegant, like a perfect poison- issued from the drone's mouthplates.

"_I know your secret." _

Each sung note left Nightbeat swallowed in a deeper horror. He stared helplessly as the Fallen stepped from the drone, still grinning as wild fire licked at him, and then slowly he sank into the floor. He disappeared completely without even a ripple. But the feeling of high, cold laughter ringing over the walls lingered for a long time after the spectre was gone.

* * *

Feeling particularly giddy that he had figured out what purpose the unknown program served, Psi paid no heed to the electrical surge he cast off. He could be giddy if he wanted after so long of being bored. Millennia after millennia of being bored, bored, bored, with nothing more than insects to torment. And now something interesting was finally happening!

Another electrical surge traveled along his innards, passing a flash of electric light through him. Unlike most monsters in fairytales, he did not shrink from the light, but laughed at it. Several drones went flying along his floors, their innards fried. From the cells housed deep within himself, he heard and felt the cries of surprise as several captives received a sharp shock. He particularly loved the extra pitch to Elita's scream as she writhed in the part of Psi that served as a lab for Shockwave. She was a joy to torment, whether intentional or no. How he loved her screams.

But even the joys of agony were not enough to distract him from his current goal. The parasite, Shockwave, had to be informed.

In the tangled nest of wires high above the bridge of Psi's alt mode, Shockwave was predictably lurking with his head open, connected to all the greater systems through his cobwebs of cables. The gall of the little pest, so bold as to think he could interface with a being as great and as terrible as Psi. He was the Fallen One. The Great Betrayer. He had sold his Maker and brethren out for the power the Unmaker could grant. Yet an insect without a fraction of his greatness, power, or presence presumed to be of such equal standing with a monster that he dared integrate his thought processes. There was no shortage of disgust or amusement when Psi regarded his leech-pet/charge. Transformers of present orn had lost the respect and reverence for the old ways that their predecessors had held in spades. No one feared monsters like they used to.

Had strict instruction not been left to allow Shockwave his sway, it would have been Psi's absolute delight to throw the pest into the nearest black hole.

The only good purpose Shockwave's current connection to Psi's consciousness served was the convenience of conveying the news without having to mime it.

"No luck trying to make the dead duck sing?" Psi greeted, transmitting directly into Shockwave's processor. The active view screens displaying Elita's current session fizzled out, replaced with an alien faceplate of dark metal whose optics blazed like infernos.

"There is no logical point to making such an enquiry," came the reply, mentally issued through their connection because it was most logical to reciprocate the exchange in the manner of least resistance. One wire hissed as it disconnected from the great tangle of Shockwave's head, replaced by another as he shifted to a new focus. Instantly, Psi was aware that power was being diverted from a previously running energon drill to a wickedly painful probe meant to be inserted directly into a spark to measure the possibility of division. The probe detected nothing as it was inserted, but Elita's cries once again tickled Psi's innards.

"No, but this dreadfully disgusting little ball of puss we're parked by has such funny little idioms that I couldn't help but use one." For the eons he had existed, and for all the planets he had seen consumed by his master, it was Psi's personal opinion that Earth had to be amongst the most absurd of all. Which was very much a compliment from a being like himself.

Shockwave, unfortunately, did not share the demon-ship's fondness for everything chaotic in the universe. "There is no point in indulging in the idioms of an inferior race; you are wasting time and energy that could be better spent seeing to the task we've been set."

The large image of Psi across the screen waved a hand as if to show how inconsequential Shockwave's concerns were. When one was a truly immortal being connected to the greater machinations of the universe, everything else was very small by comparison. "You, my pesky little parasite, were charged with the duty of discovering a way of creating a new spark without the use of that blasted Allspark. I, on the other hand, was merely told to be your chauffeur, so I may waste my time and energy on anything I see fit, seeing as I have both infinite amounts of time and energy, and you do not." And because he was petty enough to do it, he sent a particularly nasty surge through his internals to shock the mortal leech sucking off him. This time, he was satisfied with Shockwave's reaction, which was a violent involuntary spasm that made the drones he was connected to black out and reboot instantly. And because Shockwave was still connected to him, when the effects of the surge died down, Psi knew the mech was not pleased.

"What is the point of this harassment when I am conducting delicate scientific research?"

For a short burst of time, Psi's faceplate was replaced with a real-time visual of Elita One laid out on a berth, her chassis strapped open to expose her withered and rotted life force. Psi returned only to laugh. "Scientific research, you say?" It was no more than a long-running joke. A pathetic one, at that. "There's no point in trying to make a dead duck sing, and no matter how many times you tease that little pet's spark, you can't rip it in two. You're better off playing with that new toy of yours, the one that talks to himself."

"The purpose of the unnamed program running in Experimental Applicant XX2-4620008PSI's processor has yet to be determined. Until that variable can be discerned, experimentation will be put on hold."

"Then you will be delighted to know that I have figured out what that quaint little program does." And even now, Psi was aware of Nightbeat's presence, pacing like the caged animal he was. Now that he knew what the mech was capable of hearing, he found it greatly amusing to cut him off from it all. The panic that oozed off the little scrap heap was delicious.

"Inform me of the purpose."

Psi's faceplate drew down into an expression of pensive displeasure, chaffed by Shockwave's incessant bluntness. "The program is proof that my brethren are, or more accurately _were_, active amongst your kind, at least until you left Cybertron."

"Your brethren: the others of the Original 13." A statement, not a question.

"You can't help who your family is, unfortunately," the Fallen One sighed. "My brethren were, in fact, the other 12 members of the beings your kind call the Original 13 Transformers; self-proclaimed righteous defenders of everything good, weak, and pathetic in the universe." There was no fondness in his tone for those he had been created alongside.

"You speak in past tense," Shockwave noted without curiosity.

"And past tense they are. Unlike myself, they are still bound to the spark of Cybertron; their sparks depend on Cybertron's spark. And seeing as Cybertron is nothing more than a rotting rust-ball now, it wouldn't come as a surprise if every last one of them have faded to dust along with it."

A brief silence ensued on Shockwave's part as he processed the information and updated his memory files. While he had long since confirmed the Fallen, _Psi_ the monster insisted as his designation, as an actual metal-and-bolts being, Shockwave had not taken the liberty to assume the other 12 had been real. Now that it was confirmed they had been real at some point in time, it felt pertinent to correct the error in his data tracks. Once done, he moved on: "This information is insignificant to the subject at hand. Inform me of the purpose of Experimental Applicant XX2-4620008PSI's program. What purpose did it serve your brethren in bestowing it?"

"As powerful as I am, and my fellow members of the 13 were, not one of us has ever mastered the gift of omnipresence. A good second to that is employing your kind to do our dirty work for us. However, as it stands, compared to us, you are blind, deaf, and incredibly naïve to the universe around you. Essentially, you're _useless_ as you are." He chuckled, as if enjoying laying out all of Shockwave's shortcomings. "But say your disposition was _tweaked_ just a little…"

Shockwave's singular optic dimmed, brightened, the lens always adjusting and readjusting. "Define 'tweaked' in this context."

A terrible amusement crossed Psi's faceplate. "There are _infinite_ ways we can change you to suit our purposes; some great, some small, and some ways are completely beyond your comprehension. For your sake, I'll give you a simple example."

By now accustomed to the constant slights on his intelligence, Shockwave wisely overlooked the Fallen's tone for the sake of hearing the explanation.

Psi, having received no interesting response, continued. "It usually starts with a throwaway life- some dying bot or nameless heathen whose spark is about to extinguish. With the onset of death, whatever fate they had been meant for becomes wasted and void. In other words, they become perfect candidates for, say, a cleverly disguised stranger to come along and offer a _different_ fate, in exchange for whatever would suit that stranger's machinations best." Psi waved an experienced hand. There was no counting the number of occasions he had appeared at the berthside of the near-dead, breathing life back into their sparks in return for seemingly innocuous demands, ones which usually led to the collapse of transport way, the spread of a deadly virus, or some other fun that only required a tiny whispered catalyst. "Become this; become that; whatever we ask of you. Most of you are so grateful for your shallow lives that you'll bend over backwards to serve our demands. It's not a great tweak, mind you- not like Nightbeat's, but it's a way of putting pawns in the right place at the right time, which can be just as important."

"Do you claim awareness of future events?" Shockwave enquired, suspicious of the nature of how Psi referred to 'the right place at the right time' as if it were a definable constant in the future instead of an ever-shifting variable one could only estimate.

"Only my brother, The Seer, claims knowledge of what will be," Psi informed curtly. "The rest of us are merely in tune to the patterns of the universe in ways a mortal could never understand. But, as in Nightbeat's case, there are ways of making you little rust heaps useful to us. All it takes is a little touch. We can make it look like a harmless corruption of data, or an innocuous program no one will ever look twice at. In reality, we can give a chosen individual a fraction of our abilities. A tweak here, a tweak there, and one can be made to read the darkest desires of a spark, or heal by mere touch. I even know of one chosen bot who claimed he could interact with the energies of those already passed. Few actually live up to their potential, though. Too much for them to handle. Most are driven mad." And he'd be a liar if he said he didn't have a hand in lending to the madness.

Madness was of no concern to Shockwave. "What manifestation does Experimental Applicant XX2-4620008PSI suffer from?"

Psi's burning optics appeared to burn even brighter as he contemplated the nature of what had been done to Nightbeat. "His gift is a special gift, indeed. In all my time, I have only once come across this particular ability, and there is no telling what the original giver had meant by bestowing it." He canted his head ever so slightly, adopting a lightly pensive look. "It's powerful, and undoubtedly a great asset to those who can hear and understand, but to a mortal? What purpose could it possibly serve? Primus- _urgh_, I mean the Unmaker only knows what madcap sibling of mine came up with something like this. It's absurd to think specks of consciousness like you creatures could handle something so immense."

"You have yet to state what the ability is."

An impatient noise came from the Fallen One. "Nightbeat hears the echoes of the present."

"That explanation does not compute."

"That's because you are a narrow-minded insect." Nevertheless, the demon-ship reached for an explanation the blind, deaf, stupid parasite could grasp. "If you were to imagine the universe as a giant clockwork, all internals working in tandem with each other so that the device as a whole may move forward, you could say that Nightbeat hears the sound of the cogs themselves turning. He hears the Order; events being set in motion, one moment sliding into the next, the movement of the universe moving forward. What's more is he speaks to them and they answer back. It's unprecedented in mortals. I've cut him off for now, but there is only so long I can keep even my anti-space from moving."

There was a long silence as Shockwave's logistics ran furiously to quantify Psi's personification of the "universe moving forward". He could not compute such a claim. Because they remained connected, Psi sensed his thought processes and laughed at him.

"You are such a small-minded speck," the Fallen One said derisively.

The insult was ignored. "Is the program of any value?"

"Perhaps, but only to the bot it is given to." He knew of only one case where a gift had been made to pass on, miraculously copied and transferred to the mind of a sparkling. But it was unlikely that Nightbeat was _that_ sparkling.

"Is it likely to disrupt procedure?"

Psi shrugged carelessly. "Not in the least. You deal with his spark, not his head."

A short deliberation followed, one in which Psi felt Shockwave manipulating the labs remotely. Elita was unstrapped and dragged back to her cell. Another failed attempted was filed away in the crowded data tracks of failed attempts. Energy was rerouted to other parts of the ship. Drones were directed with new motives. Finally, Shockwave spoke.

"Very well, we shall begin experimentation immediately."

* * *

Nightbeat paced like a caged animal, his spark searing a burning tempo to the inside of his sparkcase.

IT had said _"I know your secret." _

It knew. It. He. _The Fallen_ knew he heard things; knew he heard _voices._ But it was more than that. It was not just that the Fallen knew. There was a deeper level to the taunt. Something more that made his energon run cold. He was missing a detail. Trying to understand a picture whose integral piece was missing…

Thoughts started to fly as a thousand whirling puzzles presented themselves, blurred around the edges by a growing terror he had yet to cast a name for.

No matter how great his training as a Special Ops agents had been in the past, he was no longer able to keep a tamp on the terror. His pacing had turned to a wild flurry of shuffling that turned him dizzy in the dark, clearing the floor of debris as it was kicked from his path. Everything was a blur, and he daren't shutter his optics in an attempt to find a center. Primus only knew what he would find if he shuttered his optics. Even if the Fallen was lurking close again, Nightbeat found he'd rather stay ignorant of the detail for as long as he could.

Running a desperate hand over his faceplate, he felt paint flakes come off in his palm. The frigid air had died somewhat, but still it had dried his paint to a brittle papery covering that cracked and peeled with every move. He forced a violent cough out his vents to rid himself of the building paint-flake debris, listening as the chips crackled on the floor amongst the dust and corpses.

His footsteps, his intakes, even his thoughts- they were all too loud without the secondary input of others in his head. Elita was still gone; the Fallen had left to follow its own whims; the drone had gotten up shortly before and walked away, and the very last thing Nightbeat had ever valued- his wonderful, terrible, whispering instinct- had been taken away from him. He felt wretched that the last thing he had ever done to it was accuse it of betraying him.

He tried to lay out the puzzle pieces on his own. The one pressing detail he knew right away: he heard voices. Correction, he did. Or he still could and something was preventing him from doing so. The second detail he gathered was the fact that Fallen now knew he could hear. Meaning the demon-ship had not known previously. And if he were to extrapolate from the drone's behaviour, which was connected to its controller's whims, who was, without a doubt, the Mastermind, AKA Shockwave, Nightbeat could hypothesize that Shockwave had been curious of something about Nightbeat. The drone was now gone, shortly after the Fallen's discovery, indicating the possibility that the unknown detail Shockwave had been trying to discover about Nightbeat was now known. The Fallen had informed him of the voices.

Other details of his current circumstance: one, that the voices and the Fallen were aware of each other. Case in point, the voices referenced the Fallen with the title Chaos. _Chaos destroys Order. _ Wracking his memory banks, Nightbeat recalled old stories from when he was young, before he had even graduated to youngling status. He had been a small, confused sparkling able to hear things no one else could, and one superstitious Caretaker had taken the time to relate to him stories of the old ways of Cybertron, complete with the old transformers. One had been the Fallen, the right hand of the Unmaker; his title before the fall had been _Guardian of Entropy_. Entropy; synonymous with Chaos. _Chaos destroys Order. _Making the voices Order. They had used it as a title. Order. Chaos. Order of what? A greater order to what degree?

Unbidden as memories and thoughts collided with each other, he accidentally opened an old memory file he had buried away in his processor. It was of the orn his Creator had died. The first and last orn he had encountered the pearl-painted youngling who had appeared out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast. It had been a strange orn, to say the least, where he had not cried for his Creator, but was made curious of the idea that he was not truly gone at all. One thing nagged at him, one detail about the exchange that scratched at his processor. Something the strange, ghostly little bot Daybreak had said to him…

"…_Or maybe the voices are part of a very intelligent design… everything in the universe has its certain place and purpose, and everything moves in a certain clockwork to everything else; it's all so very perfect and strange for it to be all just random occurrences, so maybe the voices are part of the clockwork of the intelligent design that keeps everything running, and we're just able to hear the cogs turning."_

The universe like clockwork. A perfect Order.

Could that really be it? Was the answer really so simple, and yet so incredibly immense that it was almost impossible to comprehend? All this time, he had been listening to cosmic cogs turning, gears rotating, events unfolding… It didn't seem possible that a single, insignificant bot like himself could be gifted with something so _grand_. Nevertheless, there was a blooming of unnamed emotion moving within his spark. The sense of being _right_ without even having to be told; a dawning amazement and awe in the faceplate of the grandeur of the design he had been connected to. Just as real as it was to stand in the bowels of a monster, surrounded on all sides by more evil than what any living being had the right to be around, he inexplicably _knew_ he was somehow right. It was as if he could still hear them whispering in his audios- _that's right, that's right, trust yourself_!

But trust was not what he felt in that moment, least of all in himself. In fact, he felt terribly, terribly _small_ in that singular moment in time. He was trapped between two opposing forces of incredible proportion; caught between Order and Chaos incarnate. And, if he really had to be a judge of things, he'd say Chaos was winning at the moment.

Nightbeat's musings scattered like dust to the wind as the door at the far end of the prison block hissed open, admitting the usual crowd of two silent drones toting a single frame between them. There was no need to be curious of whom they brought. Nightbeat knew without needing to be told that Elita One was returning. He backed up against the wall as they approached, and then tried not to make a sound of horror when he caught a flash of Elita's condition when the dropping force field cast her in a dim light. The drones tossed her in and left.

"Elita One?" Nightbeat called out carefully, his back still pressed to far wall. No answer came, not even a small groan. For a single moment, he feared she had finally died and her corpse had been brought back to rot. Steeling himself for whatever he was about to discover, Nightbeat peeled away from the wall and crept to Elita's side, shuffling with his feet to find his way. When his foot tapped something larger than the usual debris, he knew he had found her.

"Elita One, can you speak to me?" he asked softly, crouching over her. A moment of hesitation froze him before he brought his hand to touch her. She didn't like to be touched, nor was it pleasant to touch her. Suppressing a shudder, he laid his palm to what he guessed was her shoulder, feeling warped metal and crusts of something he had no name for. Passing by a vent, a barely-there brush of shallow air caressed him.

As if treating a most precious treasure, Nightbeat began arranging Elita into a more comfortable position. He did it by touch alone, scooting along the floor on his knees to clear a space, straightening out the tangle of her limbs. Her optics had gone murky, greyish. It was a colour Nightbeat was not familiar with in optics, but he was sure there were quite a few more things he was not familiar with on this ship. By the time he had decided Elita was comfortable, it was Nightbeat's distinct impression that she had slipped into some kind of catatonic state. There was no reaction to any stimulus whatsoever on her part, not even a groan when he had accidentally trodden on her hand.

She was alive, but only barely so anymore.

Distracted from his earlier insanity by Elita's sad fate, Nightbeat settled down at her side, drew his knees up to his chest, and stared into the darkness as if he could see her. He couldn't grasp in words how amazing he thought she was for surviving so long in a place like this. Everything she had endured- the physical, emotional, mental torture- and here she was, still alive, despite it all. Even if she were only holding on by strings. It was as if some cruel design had granted her a sick form of immortality, making it so that she could live forever as long as they tortured her. She lived no matter what they did to her.

Nightbeat knew he wasn't even half as strong as her. He doubted there was another being in the universe who could endure as much as she had and emerge from it with half the silent, mourning grace Elita possessed.

It occurred to him in that moment that he probably wasn't even going to last a fraction of the time Elita had suffered here. Now that the Fallen knew of him, knew what he could hear, it was probably only a matter of time before he was dragged away. It was a morbid sense of resignation that told him he was not going to last through the first round. He was not like Elita One. He was going to die.

Yet something about that thought process bothered him. Not the part that he was going to die, because he had always known he would; war reminded him every orn that he was not immortal. The manner that he was going to die in disturbed him to no end, but there was a sick acceptance of his fate slowly building in him, churning like heavy tar at the bottom of his tanks. What bothered him was something half-forgotten in the madness he had let grip hold of him earlier, one of the last things said to him before his connection to the universe had been barred...

_You were brought here to make sure a part of you lives on. _

But which part? Which part of himself was capable of transcending death? His spark would extinguish, his frame would rust and rot…

Elita made a small noise at his feet, apparently not as catatonic as he once thought. In a bid to offer what comfort he could, Nightbeat reached out to touch her, his clumsy fingers stumbling upon her interface port. It was then that the answer came to him. Like in the cases of many mysteries, the epiphany hit in a flash of understanding; interface ports were connected to the processor, the processor was databanks, databank subclass: memory files. The part of all living beings that transcended death was their _memories_. The dead stayed alive in the memories of every living being ever encountered in a lifetime.

Memories, like the ones his Creator had transferred to him before Nightbeat had ever been given a spark. Memories that had passed the strange program from Creator to Creation: the part of Twilight that still lived in Nightbeat.

And now Nightbeat was to pass on his gift. He knew exactly who it was meant for.

His voice cracked when addressed the darkness next. "Elita… Primus only knows where your mind is right now, but I hope you've found some place that doesn't hurt…" If he stared hard enough, he could almost fool himself into seeing the yellowed, sickly light of Elita's rotted spark in the cracks of her plating. "Wherever you are, I hope you can hear me. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, and I'm sorrier still that I was not able to free you from this place. I can say with utmost certainty that I am honoured to have known you, even for such a short time. You have the bravest, strongest spark I have ever known, and I am glad that you are the one I am passing my gift on to." He touched her forehead, feeling broken metal, an unmoved faceplate. He wished to say so much, if only time was not running out. "Please don't hate for what I'm about to do. I wasn't given a choice to hear what I do, but if I could go back to the moment my Creator transferred his memory files to me, I wouldn't take it back." He could imagine her pliant form in front of him, staring endlessly. She had as much choice in the matter as he once had. "I don't know what it is you're meant to hear, but there's a reason for everything. If there's one thing I've learned from listening to them, it is that everything is connected." His hands moved, shaking, to her interface port. "Like patterns. Puzzles. You and I meeting in this place, what I'm giving you right now… It's all part of something _bigger_. The one great mystery I've been following all my life." He sucked in a shuddering drag of air as he established connection, letting it all out in a strange rush that was half laugh, half sob. "It's up to you to figure it out now."

There was no warning as his consciousness plunged into Elita One's. He had not been expecting the transition to be so sudden, when normally there was some resistance from active programs and the usual bustle of a bot's busy mind. As confusion cleared, he found the reason for the lacking resistance was because there was practically nothing to resist with. Elia's firewalls had long since crashed, all protective measures overwhelmed, laying in scattered lines of code about her wracked processor. Where Nightbeat found his consciousness now was the equivalent of their cell in the Fallen- dark, cold, and deceptively empty until someone shifted and found the floor covered in debris. But it was a place where the flames did not follow Elita, and for that this place was probably her haven.

Accidently brushing a broken string of data, Nightbeat found a memory activated- it was shaky and greyed, Optimus's faceplate peering down into Elita's optics, touching her faceplate, his mouthplates moving but his words did not match the pace.

"_I love you. I love. I love you…" _

The memory replayed the words over and over. Optimus's voice was the only thing that rang with crystal clarity.

Feeling embarrassed to have intruded on such a private memory, Nightbeat withdrew, hoping to find a relatively undamaged patch with which to upload his copied files to. Fumbling in the metaphorical darkness of her mind, he bumped into several more thought trains, each featuring an emerging intimate memory of Elita and Optimus running on a loop. Yet, with so many resurfacing memories running, there was very little of Elita's consciousness to be found. He supposed the mystery was some kind of defence mechanism; if she disappeared from even her own mind, whatever was done to her mentally or physically would, perhaps, hurt less. It made him sick to think he was no better than Shockwave invading the sanctity of her private person. Even trying to justify that what he was doing was for the greater good left bitter bile in his tanks. It did not take long to find a patch of Elita's mind that looked relatively more stable than the rest. The thoughts and memories here were firmly rooted through a sense of determined stubbornness and desperation, rather than the flighty, ethereal memories resurfacing elsewhere.

Determining that this last refuge in Elita's mind was probably the best place for him to upload to, Nightbeat began the process of connecting. A draining sensation tickled his mind as copied information ran from his processor like water, trickling into its new home to take root amongst the charred and ruined data.

A sudden spike of fear shot through Elita as Nightbeat grew too close to the memories she had been protecting. First fear, and then desperate horror. He was trapped in mid-stream, unable to disconnect from the upload. Everywhere around him, he could feel Elita's presence rising like a wild storm. She did not recognize him as a friend nor alley. She felt only an intruder too close to what she protected above all else. Her attack hit with surprising strength, rattling Nightbeat. Her second attack was stronger.

Now he was scrambling to disconnect. Enough of himself had been uploaded to ensure that the program would be able to activate in her processor. He needed to disentangle from her mind before she accidentally hurt herself. Or hurt him, which was becoming an increasing possibility. Her third attack was vicious, like a strike of lightning, and in it, Nightbeat caught a flash of the memories she was protecting.

_She stood beside Optimus Prime in the dimly lit ICU of Iacon, staring down at an empty berth while Optimus's mouthplates moved around silent words. He was saying something important. Their only light was the ghostly glow of Arcee hanging suspended in a CR chamber, hanging on by threads as a virus ravaged her… _

_Iacon was being attacked. Ironhide and Chromia were gathering Arcee from the emptied CR chamber. Optimus was scooping nothing from the berth he stood at. He held nothing to chest as he ran…_

_The destroyed hangar was alive with the screams of war as Decepticons flooded in from all sides. She was fighting as hard as she could, her rifle white-hot from the spews of blazing plasma she issued from it, her hands rife with energon from the several occasions she had used her blade to cut down an enemy. Out of the corner of her optic, she watched the _Ark_ crew sprint for the _Ark_. Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Jazz… Hound was running to her aid as she fell, and Mirage pelted down the _Ark_'s ramp to help Hound. The engines of the great ship powered up, and even though it would leave without the Master Spy, she was relieved to know there were still five bots on board. Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet, Jazz, and no one… _

Finally, Nightbeat was thrown from Elita's mind. The force of his ejection physically threw him back, ripping his interface cable from the femme's port. An actual spark hissed where their connection severed. Shaken, Nightbeat lay unmoving where he had been thrown, listening as the high-pitched whine of Elita's systems died as her frenzy faded. The moment she recognized there was no longer an intruder endangering that part of her mind, she quieted, submitting to the catatonic state she had previously lain in.

"Elita One?" Nightbeat asked unsurely. As expected, there was no answer. She had only come to life long enough to protect what Nightbeat had threatened. Even into the last moments of his life, mysteries arose and followed him.

Such a curious thing to come upon… Why had Elita One deleted every memory she had of Bumblebee? What did she know about Bumblebee that was so important she couldn't let Shockwave know?

Nightbeat jumped as he felt hard hands grasp his shoulders. Drone hands. There was unforgiving strength in their grip. No mercy in their sparkless beings. He had not sensed them coming, but he resigned to his fate nonetheless.

"I'm ready," he announced to no one, allowing the drones to lever his up and haul him out. He had done what he had been meant to do, everything else would be up to those left living.

His death march felt like an endless one. With each twist and turn, he grew dizzier and more confused, until eventually the drones brought him to a lab that was more nightmare than reality. This place was well-lit, every sterile surface reflecting knife-sharp white light. A single berth lay in the middle of the room, looking recently sterilized. He could only guess that it was the same berth Elita had been tortured on.

As if peering through a telescope from the wrong end, Nightbeat watched the last moments of his life pass away in a mundane medical fashion. His limbs were secured to the berth, his chest cracked open and his spark exposed. The cold was searing on his insides, coldest on the sensitive metal of his sparkcase. The drones were colder still, efficient in all their movements as they stripped his armour to expose other points of interest, inserting measuring tools and probes, subtle torture before the main event. Hundreds of sparks had probably met their end on this very berth, murdered by these very drones. Somewhere in another part of the ship, detached from it all, Shockwave watched with indifference. This was all science to him. Nightbeat and a thousand others were not living beings; they were numbers.

Cold steel pierced his spark. The probe was long and narrow, no more than an electrified rod, its presence rigid within the life force that pulsed around it. It was a perversion. A rape of his spark. Unable to take the agony or humiliation, Nightbeat shuttered his optics, discovering the Fallen had come to watch the show. He was smiling, moving in a way that hinted at internal laughter. The Fallen did not know yet that Nightbeat was not about to die, not completely. He had completed his part of the puzzle; his voices would live on.

His wavering smirk wiped the smile from the Fallen's faceplate.

"**Commencing spark division procedure on Experimental Applicant XX2-4620008PSI. Stand by." **

Steeling himself, Nightbeat waited for it to come. His frame shook. No amount of accepting death would take away how much what was about to happen would hurt. An unchecked sob escaped him, breathy and broken. An electric hum had started somewhere to his left, filling the room with a buzzing. What started as pins and needles in his chest slowly began to swell into a feeling of fire. Of its own accord, his frame twisted, arched, and from his mouthplates came a scream unlike any other he had ever made in his life.

The Fallen was laughing again, and this time Nightbeat could _hear_ him. It was in that peculiar place between life and death that Nightbeat heard the high, cold, merciless laughter of the Fallen ringing like shattering glass. And as the laughter grew louder, drowning out even Nightbeat's screams, he became aware of a crumbling sensation. Things were starting to peel away from inside of him. Barriers were falling. The world he knew was growing quieter, more distant. The telescope he peered through grew longer and longer until he saw everything through a spot no bigger than a pin prick. He felt himself thrashing, screaming, calling out for respite, but it all slowly took on a dreamlike quality. Everything just slowly drifted from agony to a sensation he could not name. There was no name for it. The world felt so very far away now.

He found himself hallucinating in his last astroseconds of life. Or was he already dead? Another mystery to puzzle away at…

Nightbeat turned his head to the right and found himself staring into the faceplate of the pearl-painted youngling that had appeared on the orn of his Creator's death. The youngling smiled broadly, as if so proud of Nightbeat that there were no words to express the immensity of the emotion.

"Daybreak…" Nightbeat croaked, his voice raw from screaming. He searched the familiar faceplate, sobbed, and then dared to say, "_Twilight_…"

The pearl-painted youngling smiled even wider. "Such a clever mech." Those strange, glittering optics seemed to go on forever. "You figured everything out in the end. I'm so proud of you." His voice was not that of the youngling from so long ago, but the deep, musical candescence of his Creator. Somehow, Twilight sounded so much more profound in death than he ever had in life. He sounded like Order.

"It hurts so much…" Nightbeat cried. Even more of reality fell away. The dreamscape of the hallucination wavered, fading. Only Twilight remained unmoved. Nightbeat stared through cringing optics, questioning whether he was hallucinating at all. The world felt so far away, but still it hurt so much. Like strings stretched taut, pulling at the deepest, most intimate parts of himself. "_Please_, it hurts…"

"I know, _I know_," Twilight soothed. "You've done so well, Nightbeat. It's almost over. Very soon, this will all be like a dream."

At last, that final barrier fell away. The strings snapped. A rush sounded in Nightbeat's audios, and he felt himself freed from the very tiny confines he never knew he'd been bound to. It felt as if he were expanding in every direction at the speed of light. The rushing in his audios was of the universe flying by. Exhaustion, pain, mortality fell away. _Everything_ fell away. That last, single pinpoint of reality finally blacked out.

Twilight gripped Nightbeat's hand, his touch lighter than air but more alive than life had ever been. He leaned in and whispered over the rushing in Nightbeat's audio,

"_It's time to wake up now." _

And suddenly Nightbeat was aware of a most brilliant white light.

* * *

"_It's time to wake up now." _

Elita suddenly found herself back in her frame, feeling as if something had audibly _clicked_ in her head. Something had _activated_. She found herself sitting up without remembering moving. She suffered from the distinct feeling of hearing someone speak, though it was useless to hope for an echo within the Fallen. Except there was something very wrong with the silence now. It was changed. Different. It sounded as if some form of music was playing. Distant, wavering music, muffled and barely there; if Elita had ever heard whale song on Earth, she would had thought it sounded rather similar.

As more of herself came back to her mind, fitting into the nooks and crannies she had abandoned during her torture, she found something had been changed. Something had been added to her that hadn't been there before. A program she could not identify. It was in the place where her most important memories lay- the ones she couldn't remember why she protected, only that she had to. For a terrifying moment, she thought Shockwave had finally determined that these "useless" memories had scientific purpose and decided to probe. However, what she felt was not malignant. Nor was it benign. It was simply there, as if it had always meant to be there.

And then she remembered Nightbeat had been in her head.

"Nightbeat?" Elita croaked, glancing about herself. There was nothing but flame for as far as she could see- across the floors, up the walls, searing the ceiling, raging beyond her cage. Nightbeat did not burn within the inferno, nor was the Fallen anywhere present. Curious, usually the Fallen came to taunt, even for just a little while.

"Nightbeat?" she called again, worried that her voice was too quiet to be heard. Perhaps he was hidden? No noise, no response. Elita didn't remember him leaving, but she somehow knew she was never going to see him again. She sighed, backing herself up to the nearest wall and bringing her knees to her chest. Alone yet again, as she had been for eons.

_You are never alone. _

Too tired to be scared, Elita merely canted her head when the music swelled and she heard voices mixed within. Hearing voices was the least of her problems, so when she determined the sound could do her no harm, she laid her head back to her knees. There was nothing voices in her head could do to her that Shockwave hadn't already done tenfold worse.

"At least I have company now," she murmured tiredly, shuttering her optics and heaving a great sigh once more. A curious thought struck her, and she asked, "Did Nightbeat make it so I can hear you?"

_You were always meant to hear us. _Somehow the music was growing louder in her head, drawing nearer. Getting _stronger_.

Nightbeat, for the short time she had known him, had been a funny mech. Strange in a way Elita couldn't quite understand. Now she could at least guess on a contributing factor of his strangeness. "Tell him thanks," she whispered.

_He already knows_

For the first time in forever, Elita felt the faintest of smiles ghost her faceplate. The gesture was stiff, like she had forgotten how to do it. In the silence, she listened to the gentle swells and rolls of music as it ebbed and flowed, moving on an invisible tide. So accustomed to losing track of time, Elita listened until the music was all she could hear, drowning out even the preternatural silence of the Fallen. It was still a contained symphony, still fighting to be heard in all its glory, but nevertheless it was beautiful. Every note blossoming, swirling, flowing in tandem to the next, working in perfect order with all other notes.

"Is this what you sounded like to Nightbeat?" Elita asked quietly, wondrously. She suddenly felt like a very small youngling at the foot of a very immense, very wise elder bot.

Even louder did the disembodied orchestra swell. _No two sparks are the same._

Elita nodded absently, humming, trying to follow along with the disembodied whale song. When it felt as if they were fading again, she frowned, not wishing to be alone anymore.

"Will you stay with me?" she queried weakly, pleadingly.

Her request became some sort of magic, shattering the last barrier that kept the symphony at bay. She was suddenly swept away on a tide of many beautiful voices and musical notes, each like a physical caress that was of pure elation rather than pain. There was joyous celebration as the orchestra whirled and sang and swirled in rapturous ecstasy. Most amazing of all, as the music swept in, the fires were extinguished. She was rendered blind in the impenetrable darkness, but no longer did she burn with the pit-borne flame's presence. A balm of which the likes she never felt touched her aching spark, soothing it.

"How?" she asked, surprising herself with how close to a laugh that single word sounded.

_Your strength is our strength. Order is restored over Chaos. _

And then Elita laughed for real. She did not understand any of it, but felt as if it were a great deal more important than she could possibly comprehend. Her fingers came to her chest, to the seam where her ragged spark churned hidden. This seemed to be the moment of many firsts, for not only had she laughed, but she felt a sliver of hope rise in her. In that moment in time, there was no pain, no teetering on the edge of some great dark precipice, no dying from the inside out.

She felt at peace.

The greatest wonder of them all, the presence of Optimus Prime's spark within herself grew, reaching out, drawn in awe by the new joy that had taken hold of her spark.

Unbidden, Elita sobbed and reached back.


	36. Loki Lands

This chapter is brought to you by: _Inspiration_. When it hits, it hits.

From here on out, everything you ever thought you knew about WE is either going to be confirmed, or changed so drastically that you might get whiplash from reading it. I'm excited. Are you? *evil grin*

**Litahatchee**- Awww, I'm glad you liked it, Lita. It's been a long time coming, hasn't it? You were one of the people I was most looking forward to hearing your reaction from. As twisted as this sounds, if I could make you cry with the writing, then I did my job right. C:

**Transformersfreak01**- Wow, I knocked you speechless, huh?

**Flameshield**- Nightbeat was a sad sacrifice, but not in vain. There's a purpose to the madness, my dear, even the deletion of everything Elita One knew of Bumblebee.

**FunkyFish1991**- Yeah, yeah, yeah, well, you're finally getting your wish- the _Loki_ is landing this chapter. XP As for Elita- there is so much in store for her. There is a method to the madness, I say~

**Jason M. Lee**- Ah, there's a reason for erasing Bumblebee, and the answer will come in its own time. :)

**Balrog Roike**- I'm flattered that you liked Nightbeat's character so much that you were offended by his death. He was a very fun character to writer for~ His, sadly, is not the only death to come. The Cybertronians are still fighting a war, after all.

**Kittisbat**- Heaven is what you make of it, so wherever Nightbeat is, whether it be in the Matrix, or as part of the clockwork, he's in heaven. And on to that prediction of yours… *whistle* That has got to be the most zany yet, and yet I kinda like it. I had to laugh at how 'out there' it was, but definitely entertaining. Hopefully what actually happens in the story won't be boring compared to your own imagination. XD

**Tears of Twisted Angels**- Psi really does feel like my own character, since I've given him a name rather than just the title The Fallen, and I've inserted him into his own mythology for WE. He's such a pleasure to write! :) I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter.^^

**Independent C**- Ah, my friend, I delight in plot twists! The best ones are the ones readers never see coming! :D And it is my ultimate delight to hear that you think Shockwave and my version of the Fallen are creepy sons of bitches. Don't worry, they're all going to get what they deserve in the end. *evil grin*

**Bluebird Soaring**- lol~ Speechless is what I seem to have made a lot of people. ^^; I'm glad you liked this chapter, though. It was such a delight to finally give Elita some happiness in the end.

**Nitefyre**- Optimus knows she's alive, but where she is, for that matter, remains a mystery. The Fallen remains cloaked, and he's virtually undetectable when he wants to be. But, rest assured, love will prevail [eventually]!

**Lady Tecuma**- Awwww, thanks so much. I'm surprised by how well everything flowed, but I'm happy as hell that you liked it! :)

**Phoenix13**- Elita One is back in a big way, my dear! :D It's only a matter of time before she and Optimus are together again.

**Theshadowcat**- *sigh* He was a necessary sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. R.I.P Nightbeat.

**CuteKitten**- Happy endings are great, my dear, but sometime they don't always work out in reality. We'll just have to see how everything plays out here…

**He03**- Oh yes, you're certainly catching on to the game, aren't you? Everyone and everything has a place and reason in The Grand Scheme of Things, and everything is slowly but surely falling into place. Now it's only a matter of time until the grand finale (for this part of the journey) to come about.

**Chloo**- Always such high praise, my friend~ Have I ever mentioned how much I look forward to your reviews? ;P It took everything I had to write that chapter, so to hear that you gained so much from it means a lot. I haven't watched _Donny Darko_ yet, but I've heard it's an interesting movie. Now I want to watch it to hear the music~

Special credits to artists and friends alike who have inspired me, grown to be close friends, or otherwise are just plain awesome: **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte **and **FunkyFish1991.**

**As We Come Together  
In Which the _Loki_ Lands**

One moment, he was sitting on the cold western side of great sloping mountain, and the next, he was a thousand miles away in a place he thought he would never be again.

He was with Elita One.

It was if he had been standing in a very dark room for such a long time and suddenly a very bright doorway opened up. He was nearly blinded by the brilliance of it. A joy that was not his own suddenly flooded into his spark, knocking him back, dazzling him with a strength that was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. The ragged, gapping bond Optimus Prime shared with Elita One was suddenly energized, brought to life. A joy too great for Elita to contain spilled over into her mate and filled him to the point of overflow. And as a moth was to a flame, Optimus was drawn to the elation, sending his spark out into the astral plains to reach and grasp and embrace the life he felt flaring after so long of their connection hanging dead.

_Elita One! _

Even to think her name as he touched her spark sent a balm through him.

_Elita One!_

He felt her spark stutter in surprise as she felt him embracing her. A moment hung suspended as she processed the shock of feeling him so close. As if she could not believe him real. Even he himself was still in utter shock to find his sparkmate so close. _So close_. The moment passed, and with it, Elita threw everything she had at him.

_Optimus Prime! _

The tidal wave was fierce, fulfilling. Elita's very essence seemed to become palpable.

_Oh Primus, Optimus Prime!_

As if she had been sitting next to him, he heard her twinkling laughter. Carried on the breeze, her joyful laughter and crying drifted like spirits about him. She became the music of human-made wind chimes singing in the breeze. Her presence became so strong that Optimus dared to reach out, trying to grasp her astral presence with his physical hand. His spark soared and sang, reaching out as well. While his hand met nothing but the cold air, his spark tangled in a glowing energy that was all Elita One. She was near-physical in the way she touched, grasped, and wrapped herself around him in ways that spoke volumes of never letting go. Optimus was the complete reciprocation of the joy, grasping, embracing, and dragging Elita deeper into himself. They tangled, soared, pulsed.

_How is this possible? _Optimus thought, laughing in awe as he revelled in all that was Elita. So close. She felt so close. If he shuttered his optics, he could see her in his mind's optic in perfect minute detail. She was beauty incarnate. She was an avatar.

Elita could give no answer to his question, either because she knew of none to give, or because the answer was too grand to give with emotions alone. All she replied with was an astral laughter that tickled Optimus's spark, making everything from the bottom of his feet to the tips of his fingers tingle. She was laughing out of joy and relief; crying and laughing at the same time. Each note was ghostly in his audios, teetering on that wild precipice between their physical reality and the intangible bond that stretched infinitely between them.

Underlying it all, Optimus sensed not only joy but sadness as well. He was not one to forget in the joys of their reunion that Elita was still missing. She was still suffering somewhere. He took her gently into the deepest embrace his spark could offer, brought her as deep into himself as he dared, offering what strength he had left to her.

_Where are you, love? Tell me where you are… I'll find you, I swear._

Elita's astral grasp tightened as she felt Optimus's desperate enquiries. He could feel her twisting for answers to give him, but she had none. She had no clue where she was. All Optimus gained was the impression of a very dark place. Dark, cold, and terrible. Even with the merest touch of the place, he felt sickened inside. When he tried to pry further into her suffering, a frightened wall was thrown up.

_Please don't, Optimus, _she begged, tugging him away from those terrible thoughts. She didn't want to show him her sufferings. She didn't want to hurt him, nor burden him with the terror of discovering what she was going through without any idea of where she was. _Enjoy this moment. It's all we have. _

She was so desperate. Her astral fingers clutched to his spark, desperate, begging him not to ruin what little joy she had. While everything in Optimus told him he should do everything in his power to find Elita, his spark was hers, and because of that, he could not resist her. With her love, her life, so close to his own, he could do very little other than be filled and lost within joy.

"Optimus?" A nervous voice called from next to him, very close, to the left but lower than his audio. It was familiar in so many ways. "Optimus, are you alright?"

Who ever was calling to him was breaking the spell. He could already feel Elita withdrawing, being pulled back to whatever pit she resided in.

"You're scaring me," called the familiar voice. Young, and by the pitch, it was a minibot. A flash of bright yellow resounded in Optimus's memory banks.

_Elita! Elita One, don't go! Please don't leave me! _

They shared no words, nor even a passing sense, but both knew of the reality of the matter. Elita had no choice but to return from whence she came. Whatever power had allowed her to cross the distance between them had waned, wavering. She slipped farther away, no matter how hard they tried to hold on to each other. He listened with an aching spark as the astral breeze which had carried his love's laughter grew softer, more distant.

"_I'll find you, I swear!" _Optimus promised, hoping to Primus that Elita heard.

The spell that held him to the lingering essence of Elita was shattered when a hesitant hand came to rest upon his upper arm. His optics came back into focus, and Optimus briefly wondered when he had turned them off. Swinging his gaze to the left, a bright yellow figure sat next to him, wide optics bright and nervous as he stared up at Optimus.

"Find who, sir?" Bumblebee wondered softly, obviously frightened. Under the light of Earth's full moon, the little scout looked smaller than he usually did, more fragile as his doorwings drew back. His optics looked as full as the moon, but brighter still as they regarded Optimus in deep concern.

"Elita One," Optimus replied automatically, not surprised that he had taken that oath aloud. Elita's designation fell from his mouthplates as sweet pleasure and deep sorrow.

Bumblebee reacted to the named instantly, jerking back his hand as if he hand been burned. "Were you having another attack?" he asked worriedly, two astroseconds away from calling out to Ratchet for help.

"No, nothing like an attack," Optimus assured. Even as he spoke, his spark did not burn in hollow raging pain as it usually did. There was an odd balm. He was haunted by the need to find her, but no longer did agony rage in him. It felt as if Elita had found a way to linger, and he himself felt stretched as if a part of him was elsewhere. No matter how long it had been since he had felt this way, Optimus could not deny that this was the odd and comforting feeling that had been with him always when Elita was near, when they had been together on Cybertron.

In spite of Optimus's reassurance, Bumblebee looked far from calmed. He kept staring, optics tracking every movement of Optimus's large frame as if he could find the one wrong move that would reveal what had truly happened. When nothing came to him, he finally lowered his gaze.

"What happened, sir… if it wasn't an attack?" the scout enquired, oddly formal.

He remembered the last time he had come upon Optimus after an attack, recalling the haunted look in his leader's optics and the odd conversation that followed. This time there had been no writhing. No piteous silent screaming. Instead, Prime had simply gone rigid, hands moving to his chest, and his faceplate had taken on a myriad of emotions too numerous and unfathomable to comprehend. Part of Bumblebee's formality came from the lingering fright that Optimus really had just suffered through a fresh attack, but a larger part came from the unrelenting chasm awning between the Prime and his fellow Autobots. Whatever Ironhide had said to him a few orns prior had broken Optimus out of his self-induced isolation, but that made it no less comfortable to be around him. At Ratchet's behest, Bumblebee had stayed with Optimus on the cold mountainside while the others continued to search for an appropriate landing spot for the _Loki_, as they had been doing for the last couple of nights.

Tonight, it seemed, Bumblebee was sitting next to a whole new Optimus Prime. No, not a new mech. A very familiar old one. There was a spark behind Prime's optics that had been left behind on Cybertron the orn the _Ark_ had launched. Such warm, deep optics, alive and sparkling as they stared down at Bumblebee; the optics of the true Optimus Prime, alive one more after so long, as if something had energized him, resurrected him, from the inside out.

"I do not know what it was, Bumblebee, but I know without a doubt that it was not an attack," Optimus answered honestly, shaking his great head. A whoosh of warm air rushed out all his vents like he was easing a heavy weight from his shoulders. The night was obscured briefly by clouds of steam that curled around him, dissipating into the night amongst the stars and cold moon. "I simply felt her- I felt Elita One. As if she were so close I could touch her…" Beyond reason, his optics were drawn to the vast expanse of the velvet-black sky. A ripple seemed to cross the stars, like a stone tossed into a pond. He blinked, and the oddity was gone. Bumblebee had not noticed at all, his attention firmly riveted on his leader.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call Ratchet, or Ironhide?" he pressed, canting his head. "They could help you understand whatever happened…" A long silence stretched between them as Optimus continued to stare fixedly at the sky, long enough for Bumblebee to glance up, see nothing, and then return a confused stare to Optimus. "Sir?"

Optimus gave himself a brief shake. When he glanced back down to Bumblebee, he smiled grandly, freely, and reached out a kind hand to cup the young scout's faceplate.

"O-Optimus?" Bumblebee stuttered. The gesture was familiar from his youth, when he would spend evenings perched on the Prime's desk as a youngling working away at downloads. Optimus would often indulge in fond affections for him, but he hadn't done so in a long tiem. With his great head bowed, Optimus came to rest his forehead against the scout's, breathing steamy columns of warm air over him.

"I do not believe I need to understand just yet," he said, transformed into a figure that made Bumblebee's spark swell with familiarity and love. "I am content with simply accepting that what I just experienced was Elita One. She is out there, somewhere, and she will be found."

Bumblebee nodded determinedly, holding absolute faith in Optimus Prime as his leader to have the ability to find where Elita was.

Heartened by the little scout's unwavering confidence in him, Optimus's optics warmed further, taking on a deep azure glow. "It is time I shed my unfair grudge against my own mechs," he intoned, pulling his faceplate away. A sorry smile was offered to Bumblebee, supplementing him for the numerous bots and humans he had cold-shouldered over the past few orns. "I hope you can still find it in your spark to forgive me for my behaviour."

Whatever concern Bumblebee harboured for his leader dropped in that moment, replaced by an excited joy that spilled onto his faceplate like the sun lighting up the sky. "There's nothing to forgive, Optimus," he said warmly, every word sincere, straight from the spark. "You care for Elita One more than anyone else in the universe. Everyone knows that. We'd all be incredibly stupid to think this wouldn't affect you." He didn't think about what he was about to do, he just allowed his frame to move, easing up, arms out, wrapping them around the Prime's shoulders in a hug that was loving, joyous, and innocent. "I'm happy that you're back, though."

"As am I," Optimus replied, setting aside his mantle as Prime in order to indulge in the innocent, warm comfort Bumblebee was offering. The only real thing to have changed about the little scout over the vorns was his height, for his spark was just as kind as it had been the orn it was created. Optimus brushed the side of his faceplate to the top of Bumblebee's horned head, holding him as a Creator would hold their Creation.

Trapped within the loop of Optimus's long arms, Bumblebee chirped lightly, and then sighed so that billows of steam floated around them. "I promise I'll help you find her. I don't care how long it takes, or what we have to do, I'll help you." He was quiet for a moment, tightening his arms as if to hold on to the moment, reluctant to let go of this break from reality. He was a little youngling again, terrified of the explosions rocking Iacon's outer defences and seeking comfort in Optimus's strong arms, his comforting presence. "I love her as much as I love-"

_You_

But Bumblebee didn't dare say that.

"-all the Autobots."

Even if the word was never said, Optimus heard it. He loved Bumblebee just as much, if not, though there were so many things that prevented him from saying so. There would be an orn in the future when he could tell the minibot how deep his love for him spanned, tell him how close their sparks really were, but tonight would not be the night for that.

"That's very big of you, Bumblebee," Optimus said slowly, warmly.

"I really mean it," the scout insisted, his arms tightening fractionally. "I'll do anything I can to get her back." If it meant having Optimus back to himself, letting him live without pain, then Bumblebee truly would pour everything he had into finding Elita One.

"I believe you," Prime assured him quietly. They sat unmoving for a long while, silence except for their sparkbeats and the occasion sigh that stirred the stiff, brittle grass around them. Optimus dared only to move one hand away, bringing it up to trace the back of Bumblebee's smooth head in long, calming strokes, in a similar way to what he would have done when Bumble had been a youngling. Neither had a mind for time as the night passed by, but if either had checked their chronometers, they would have seen that two hours had passed since Optimus had first been roused by Elita's spark. She had yet to return as strongly as she first had, and the curious ripple to the sky was not to repeat, so finally Optimus let his optics fall and his arms withdraw.

"Shall we return to the Lennox homestead?" he asked, watching Bumblebee back away from the embrace. The scout's foot caught on a patch of slick, frosted grass, and he slipped a couple feet down the steep incline. Luckily, he was caught by a doorwing before falling too far and taking out half the mountainside with him.

"I- uh, yeah… let's get back," he twittered, steadying himself on his feet and watching as Optimus moved to stand in one fluid gesture of grace.

They eased down the slope carefully, gripping the steady trunks of ancient trees and sloughing through thin layers of snow and the shed debris of the forest that carpeted the ground. Everything about their presence was acutely alien compared to the silence of the organic land; they were loud as servos hissed, hydraulics whined, and the trees they used for better balance groaned with the weight they rested on them. The ground crackled dryly, while startled animals scurried for cover. Moonlight filtering through the treetops dappled the frosted earth, while the unnatural flash of their headlights glared straight ahead. They reached level ground together without incident, finding a barely-there path in the undergrowth, transforming, and making their way south along it.

Will's land was a world unto itself, hidden away by the twists and turns of the mountains of northern California, isolated on all side for miles from the nearest human settlement. Cupped in the palms of many surrounding mountains, the land Will's ancestors cultivated was oddly fertile in spite of the often cooler temperatures. Within the first few moments of the Autobots' arrival on the human's land, it became obvious to the Cybertronians the love their alien host had for his farmland and the solitude it granted him. Even for mechanical beings such as the Autobots, they had to admit to the lonely beauty the land held.

Optimus and Bumblebee's alt modes sat lower to the ground than their bipedal ones, making the two Cybertronians feel oddly small as austere mountains stretched up on either side. The landscape gave the feeling of standing in an ancient crack in the earth, the icy wind whistling through like a whisper of the past, making the gorge feel even more hollow than it already was.

Passing barren fields that would lay in slumber until Spring, they rolled into the open yard where the Lennox homestead sat dark and silent. They failed to note the pair of eyes that flashed in the kitchen window as they rolled into sight. Had they have extended their sensors to the house, they would have noted the panicked presence now crouched beneath the ledge of the sink, hand over mouth to prevent any noise from seeping out. Grass crunched beneath tires as the two Autobots rounded the main barn Will had granted them for their stay. Farm animals, aside from a number of chickens and a few horses, had not been present on the farm for a few decades, leaving several barns gutted and vacant for the Autobots' use, though they were warned not to be too rowdy lest the rotted wood give out and come crashing down on their heads. On the far side, Jazz had been unpacked from Optimus's trailer, laid out on a berth of wooden crates and plywood.

Coming to rest comfortably near the back of the large barn, Optimus sank down on his wheels and prepared to wait for the dawn. He knew if he engaged his recharge subroutines, the only thing his mind would see would be reel after reel of Elita. He longed for that to happen, but knew if he let it, he might not want to online again.

"I just contacted Ratchet and the others," Bumblebee announced, coming to rest in his alt mode next to Optimus's side. "They'll be back by dawn."

"I see. Thank you," Optimus said. The barn creaked around them as they sat in silence. Optimus had no doubt the little scout was texting furiously with Sam and the others to see how they were doing. Reluctant to tear the minibot away from his friends, Optimus posed his next question carefully. "Are you… looking forward to seeing Arcee again?"

Everything about Bumblebee stilled. After a fashion, he replied cautiously. "Of course I am, more than anything."

The sincerity in the scout's words appeared to put Optimus at further ease, endearingly reminiscent of himself and Elita One.

* * *

While the Cybertronians had been fortunate enough to have spent the last six months of their time on Earth on a base surrounded by humans who were in the know about them, the experience had spoiled them somewhat. Mimicry and camouflage were still their expertise, but they no longer had the luxury of assuming their bipedal modes at leisure with Sarah Lennox in the vicinity.

Regardless of Ironhide's daily arguments with Will over informing Sarah of their presence, Will remained adamant that he was waiting for the right time. He was not going to ruin his family's Christmas because the weapons specialist didn't like turning on his holo-emitters. As the human had put it, he'd tell his mate about them in the Spring, when it was warm enough to sleep in the barns after she kicked him out of the house. When it suited him, Ratchet would occasionally insert himself into the argument, taking a pseudo-high ground by iterating the importance of honesty with one's mate; the longer Will was untruthful, the more likely Sarah was going to be extremely offended by his secrecy. Though the medic didn't say his _true_ intentions, he was just as annoyed of using holograms as Ironhide was. Optimus was blessedly neutral on the subject, while Bumblebee and Wheeljack were having so much fun pretending to be human that it couldn't possibly be healthy.

True to Bumblebee's announcement a few hours prior, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Wheeljack came back just after dawn crept over the peaks. They looked utterly bushwhacked, their stances tired and sunken on their wheels, but neutral-faced holograms sat in their driver's seats betraying nothing.

Optimus rumbled a warm greeting as they came into the shelter of the barn, surprising the three Autobots with his newfound amiability. After the initial surprise, they whole-sparkedly embraced the return of Optimus Prime. They were quick to be informed of the reasons of the Prime's sudden lift in mood. Although confused by it, and Ratchet found it somewhat worrisome, they were altogether happy that Optimus had been granted this small reprieve from sparkache. He deserved as much.

Even better news; a possible landing site had been found to the north by northeast. It was a hidden niche in the mountainous region beyond the boundaries of Will's land, but not by far. It was large enough to fit a moderately-sized ship such as the _Loki_, and secluded enough to make discovery by civilians negligible. Ratchet had stumbled upon the place by complete accident, but after allowing Ironhide and Wheeljack to inspect the place, the three of them had concluded that it was unlikely they were going to find anywhere better.

"All that's left is to show Will our chosen site," Ratchet said. "I'm sure he would be interested to see where we have chosen to land the ship."

"He's been a real help ta us, so it's the least we could do," Wheeljack intoned merrily.

Optimus bobbed his front end in a nodding fashion. "Yes, I feel he would appreciate the inclusion after all of his assistance in this matter." A brief check of local time revealed that it was roughly 10 o'clock in the morning on the day of December 24th. Ten in the morning was generally a good time to call on Will- not too early as to bother any morning rituals he and his mate had together, nor too late to make it seem as if they were negligent of their alien hosts. "We can go greet him for the morning and inform him of the good news."

It wasn't necessary for them to park closer to the house for their holo-emitters to work, but it was intensely reassuring to have their alt modes within their line of sight after they transferred partial consciousness to their holograms. The closer to the house they got, the more obvious it became that there was a distinct disturbance going on inside. As one, they focused their audios to hear the loud exchange.

"_-don't, Will! Just don't! I don't want to hear it!" _

"_Sarah, please, just listen to me! It was the middle of the night; your eyes could have been playing tricks on you-."_

"_I know what I saw!"_

Will sighed expansively, jigging Annabelle in his arms to prevent her from picking up on her mother's near-hysterical mood. He looked to Sarah pleadingly. _"You could have just been dreaming it." _

Sarah flapped a hand in the air as if to slap away the petty explanation._ "I was __**not**__ dreaming! I was __**not**__ hallucinating! My eyes __**weren't**__ playing tricks on me! I came downstairs last night to get a glass of water and I saw that big truck and the yellow car driving around the yard_ _**without their drivers**_! _I'm not crazy, Will! I saw it!_"

The Cybertronians froze in their tire tracks.

"_Sarah, sweetheart, you know I love you, but there has got to be a reasonable explanation-." _

"_Bullshit, Will! I call bullshit!" _A loud bang followed; a frying pan had been tossed into the sink harder than necessary. _"I've known you long enough to know when you're lying!" _

Will's cringe was practically audible.

"**She's going to break him,"** Ironhide grumbled.

"**I give him a few more minutes,"** Ratchet countered.

"_I haven't been lying to you…" _Not the most confident statement he had ever made, but Sarah breathing fire was enough to make any man a little nervous. And it was true, he tried to justify for himself. He hadn't really lied to her; the Autobot's were his friends and they were simply looking over the land. He had just conveniently forgotten to mention they weren't human.

"_You sure as hell haven't been telling the truth," _Sarah growled accusingly, eyes flashing ire. "_You're the one you brought them here. You tell me what's going on. They sure don't look military, they don't act like military; you say they're friends of yours, but other than that Ian Hyde guy, you've never mentioned them once, ever!" _Her eyes narrowed, lips pale as she pressed them together in a thin line._ "They've been __**weird**__ since the day they got here." _

"_Weird how?" _Will asked. Guilt was practically dripping from his voice now.

"_Weird like the way they act, the way they talk! God, there's just something _strange _about them, I can't put my finger on it!" _More loud clattering as Sarah tossed other dirty breakfast dishes into the sink. Annabelle sounded as if she were getting fussy. _"They're always outside, even sleeping in a drafty old barn in the middle of winter, and yet they never seem to find it cold! They never want to come inside, and when they do come in, they act like they can't wait to get back outside with their precious cars. They never eat, they never drink, they never look like their tired. You're always out in the woods with them looking for god only knows what! I'm not stupid, Will! I know something is happening! Just tell me! I can take it!" _

"_Please, can't we talk about this another time? It's Christmas Eve…" _He sounded like he was begging now.

"_Exactly! It's Christmas, and yet you bring five complete strangers here, to our home, when I haven't even gotten to see you in months! I don't get it! If you just tell me the truth…." _

From where the Autobots were positioned, they could see Sarah Lennox crossing the kitchen to where Will was standing by the table. She touched his face with a shaking hand, searching his eyes.

"_I'll understand, I swear. If you'll just be honest with me, I won't even care if you brought home some kind of military experiments, or aliens or something." _

"**Oh, she's good,"** Wheeljack said, clearly impressed.

"_It's not that simple…" _Will sighed.

His admission was the last straw on the female's patience. She spun around and marched away, heading for the backdoor to get some much needed fresh air. All it took was three hasty steps outside before her eyes shot up and caught sight of the five waiting vehicles sitting only a few short yards away. They were all driverless, though the feeling of being stared at was strong enough to make her skin crawl. She stopped breathing altogether, unable to take her eyes off the eclectic collection. Her movements were jerky as she backed away towards the backdoor still standing ajar. Tumbling in, she threw the door closed, spinning around, only to find her kitchen far more crowded now than it had been when she left.

Around the table, the men Sarah knew as Owen, Ian, and Richard sat neutrally with her husband, though Will had dropped his head and was slowly shaking it back and forth. Jack merrily leaned against the back of Richard's chair, smiling broadly. Benjamin, undeniably the cutest member of the quintet, leaned with his back against the table, watching Sarah anxiously.

"Oh my god," she gasped, groping for a hard surface to steady herself on. _How did they get in the house so fast?_

"Sarah Lennox," Owen began, watching her with disturbingly intense eyes, "I believe there are a few long-overdue explanations owed to you."

Yes, the man Sarah knew as Owen had always had a very deep voice, but now it was different, more intense, and _metallic???_ She made a whimpering noise, losing balance. Her fall caused everyone at the table to grimace. Without thinking, Will shoved Annabelle into the nearest set of arms, being Ratchet's, and rushed to his wife's side.

"Honey, it's okay. _It's okay_," he reassured, helping her up as she floundered numbly. Her pale yellow housecoat sagged open in the minor struggle, but thankfully she was fully dressed underneath in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She wrapped her fist in Will's shirt to keep her upright, her hand shaking even as she held him.

"_Who-?_ _What_ are you?" she squeaked, staring wild-eyed from Optimus's hologram to Ratchet's, who was eyeing Annabelle as if trying to determine exactly what to do with her. Annabelle was unconcerned with her current keeper, flapping her arms with a burbled squawk of laughter. A wet Cheerio was stuck to her forehead.

"We're aliens," Wheeljack intoned happily, sticking out a finger to tickle Annabelle beneath her chin. "Well, _technically_, those vehicles you see out there are the aliens. What you see here are just extensions."

Every drop of blood in Sarah's face drained out, her vision taking on a tunnel-like quality. _Aliens? _Honest to god _aliens?_ She wavered on her feet, pale grey-blue eyes darting to Annabelle. Her precious little baby was currently being bounced in the arms of an alien _extension_? That did not sit well with her at all.

Ratchet sighed, scanning the poor, dumbstruck woman. "Watch out, Will. She's going to faint."

"Oh, crap!" He caught her before she hit the floor. Because of the awkward catch, he was forced to juggle Sarah's weight before managing to guide her limp body safely to the hardwood floor. Once sure she was out of harm's way, he glared at the collection of holograms as if everything were their fault. Justifiably, it was. "That could have gone so much better."

"My apologies, Will- this was certainly not what we intended when we came here. I take full responsibly, of course," Optimus said, shaking his head.

That did little to sooth the human. In fact, he looked a little more aggitated. "How'd she even see you guys without your holograms? You've been so good with them for the last week!"

Optimus looked to Bumblebee, whose head was bowed and he was scuffing his foot against the floor. The Prime supplied the answer for the captain once more. "Bumblebee and I drove into the yard last night without our holograms. We weren't paying attention. If we had, we would have caught Sarah's presence on sensors..."

Brushing a stray lock of hair away from his wife's face, Will dropped his glare, rolling his shoulders in a loose shrug. "What's done is done, I guess," he sighed. "Just an accident... it's not like you were aiming to traumatize her." he even dared to chuckle a little. "Can't change it, even if I wish it could have been handled better. No point in hiding anymore."

Ironhide rolled his eyes. "Thank Primus." His hologram immediately dissipated.

Ignoring the weapons specialist's usual gruffness, Will kept his gaze Optimus's hologram. "Any particular reason for this mid-morning rousing, other than to give Sarah the scare of her life?"

"Indeed..." Prime still managed to pull off a pretty good guilty look as a human. "An appropriate landing site has been found, and we were hoping to invite you along to scout it out with us today. If everything is found in order, the _Loki_ can be cleared for landing as soon as night falls."

Will ran a quick hand through his hair. "Wow, so soon?"

"Why wait?" Wheeljack shrugged nonchalantly.

"Some of us are eager to have the ship on the ground," Ratchet intoned, inclining his head towards Ironhide's alt mode where he sat rumbling outside.

"Ah, yeah, Ironhide and his mate…" Will chuckled ruefully.

"Are you going to come along with us?" Bumblebee asked, canting his blond head.

Will's eyebrows rose, looking at a loss. It was Christmas Eve day, which, traditionally for followers of the Christian religion, was a significant day, as was the actual day of the 25th. He had duties to his family to see to before he could flounce off into the mountains to celebrate with his alien comrades. On the other hand, Optimus and the others were his _really good_ alien comrades/friends. But with Sarah currently out cold on the kitchen floor like she was…

Recognizing the dilemma he had inadvertently placed on Will's shoulders, Optimus sought to ease the burden. "You do not have to come with us today. With your mate now informed of us-," he inclined his head towards Sarah's unconscious form, "-it will be much easier to bring the new arrivals here without worrying about maintaining a human guise. You will undoubtedly meet them soon."

Will thought of Jazz's frame laid out on wooden crates like a mockery of a human funeral. The others coming would want to see their fallen comrade. He knew that the transformers had different practices with their dead, but he seriously got the impression that there was someone on the _Loki_ whom everyone knew would want to see Jazz especially.

"Yeah… I'll meet the new Autobots when you bring them. For now, I'm going to stay with Sarah. I'll explain everything to her when she comes to." He quirked them a half-smile, jerking his chin in the direction of the kitchen window. "You guys better get going, though. It looks like Ironhide's about to start tearing up my lawn." The huge Topkick rumbled by ominously, his engine growling so deeply it made the windows rattle.

"If you wish, someone could stay behind for now to assist with anything," Optimus offered.

"I'll stay," Bumblebee volunteered, smiling sweetly. "It's the least I can do, considering I was one of the bots Sarah caught without a hologram."

"Don't you have a friend coming in on that ship?" Will wondered.

"I'll find my way to the landing site tonight," Bumblebee assured kindly. "Now is just the time to make sure it is an appropriate place. I'm fine with missing that formality."

"We'll be on our way, then," Optimus said, dissipating. Wheeljack followed suit, and Ratchet went seconds after, sparing a moment to plunk Annabelle into her highchair and scoot a few Cheerios closer to her chubby fists. Bumblebee's hologram trotted to the window to watch his fellow Autobots drive away. As soon as they were out of sight, the scout drove closer to the house, parking right underneath the kitchen window, and then a bright smile lit up his too-cute, almost inhumanly perfect face.

"Optimus looked to be in a better mood now," Will commented, preparing to drag his wife to the living room couch.

"Oh yes, he's in a much better mood, isn't he?" Bumblebee said happily.

"You too, come to think of it," Will noted curiously, smiling in return of Bumblebee's sparkling smile.

"When he is happy, I am happy." He paused to consider something, and then said, "I think what you call a 'Christmas miracle' happened for him." No matter how curious a statement he just made, the scout did not elaborate further. He simply walked over and plucked Sarah from Will's arms as if she weighed nothing, taking her into the living room to lay her out on the couch. In an act of indulgence, he smoothed away her hair as he'd seen Will do, and then wondered if he was going to have to care for Arcee in a similar way when she arrived.

* * *

"HELLOOOOOOOOO!"

"_Hello…Hello…Hello… Hello…" _

"HOW ARE Y-?!

"**WHEELJACK, SHUT UP!" **

"_Shut up…Shut up… Shut up… Shut up…" _

Ratchet glared flatly while Wheeljack broke into a fit of laughter as the echoes died away.

"It's not that funny," the medic grumped.

"Not funny _to you_, maybe." The engineer's fins flashed brightly in time to his laughter. Their chosen landing site had been approved and night had set, and now they were enjoying some downtime before the _Loki_ hit the atmosphere. Wheeljack's laughter only stopped when a huge semi-solid ball of cold white stuff launched into the side of his head. After a moment of squealing and wild flailing, he managed to wipe away most of the snow. It was his turn to glare at the guilty party.

Ratchet grinned, shaking snow from his hands. "See? Now _that's_ funny."

Wheeljack opened his mouthplates to retort that no, it wasn't funny, but as he took an astrosecond to think about it, yeah, it was _kind of_ funny. And, if it was enough to get his old friend grinning and acting less like a sourpuss and more like the good old mech Wheeljack knew was in there deep down, then tossing snowballs was fine by him. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't retaliate.

Ratchet caught the engineer's creeping grin, his own vanishing quickly. _"You wouldn't."_

"Humans gotta saying, Ratch'- all's fair in love and war." Quick as he would have been on the battlefield, Wheeljack dove for the snow, shaped it, and launched his attack.

Battle training kicked in immediately, having Ratchet dodge to the side. He swiped the ground for more snow, launching one snowy projectile after the other. Wheeljack dove for cover in the trees, hoping the thick boughs of the evergreens would be enough to shield his bulk. Unfortunately, his hiding spot made manoeuvring difficult, and the ground around his feet was scarce of snow.

"Aw, slag," he groaned, stretching up high to see Ratchet waiting for him a few paces away, confidently tossing a single snowball. "Truce?" he called hopefully.

"No way. You asked for it," Ratchet snorted, lobbing his snowball at the flash of light he saw peek through the dark trees. He knew he hit something when he heard Wheeljack yelp, which only made Ratchet laugh. The whole situation was ridiculously immature, especially for bots of their advanced positions, and yet the release of tension it granted… It felt almost as if they were younglings again back at the Straxis Youth Sector. It had been eons since Ratchet had had the opportunity to feel so young or alive; Wheeljack was definitely rubbing off on him.

Optimus watched with bemused interest as he sat on a rocky outcropping that jutted from the sloping mountainside, thankfully far enough away from the tussle to be spared the indignity of getting a snowball to the faceplate. He wondered if it was his own improved mood that was causing this suddenly uplift in mentality amongst his mechs. It was a nice thought, but he couldn't deny that the idea of more of their kind would be landing on Earth soon wasn't enough to lighten even the grumpiest of them.

And speaking of the grumpiest of them all…

"Ironhide, come, sit with me before you wear a trench in the ground," Prime called, waving to the dark shadow pacing the far end of the mountain-formed basin.

The weapons specialist's snort echoed off the high rock walls. He gave a wave of dismissal and then returned to pacing the perimeter, pausing every so often to comb the low cloud ceiling for any sign of the _Loki_'s belly breaking through. As he turned into a deeper shadow, a flash of electric-blue light rolled off him. When he raised a hand to touch the steaming metal of his chest, another lash of blue lightning arced into the air. He was anxious, _excited_, to see his mate again.

Accepting the dismissal, Optimus watched his old friend for a breem longer, feeling no jealousy as he regarded him. Ironhide would have Chromia in his arms in only a very short time, and that was cause for celebration. Optimus was _happy_ for him, more so now than ever before. He was happy for Ironhide in an unburdened way that made him feel light-sparked and free. Elita had done that for him- he had been given a taste of his own sparkmate, and she lingered with him stronger than what he felt in a long time, and in that he found his freedom to be happy for his fellow Autobots. And he knew that sometime soon it would be he who was welcoming Elita One into his arms. Touching the very tips of his fingers to his own chest, Optimus dared to smile at the faintest spark of blue that licked from the seam in his chest to his hand.

A brief break in the cloud cover shed silver light over the deep basin they gathered in. It was nearly time for the _Loki_ to make planet fall. Excitement and nervousness were starting to thread the air. No one mentioned it, but they all felt it; the building palpable energy that thickened with every passing moment, with every sparkbeat. It was a given how Ironhide and Chromia were going to react to each other; there were going to be fireworks, and possible forest fires, involved. And one would have to be utterly stupid to think there was going to be anything less than a volatile reaction between Ratchet and the twins. But how would Bumblebee and Arcee hold up when they came faceplate-to-faceplate? What of Prowl when he discovers the fate of Jazz? What of the damages of war upon the new arrivals' psyches? Would there be scars that not even the tentative attempts of alien psychology could touch? Heal? There were so many variables, so many things that could go terribly, horribly wrong…

A battle cry split the air as Wheeljack launched from the trees, taking Ratchet to the ground with a resounding crash. While they began to wrestle in earnest, it was far from a battlefield-worthy fight. It was more like what one would see between siblings, and youngling siblings at that. They flailed, flapped, and laughed as they simultaneously tried to push each other off while dragging them back in for more.

"This is highly undignified!" Ratchet yelled, trying to crawl away.

"Says the mech who threw the first snowball!" Wheeljack grabbed a foot and yanked him back. Grooves appeared in the frozen ground where Ratchet tried to dig his fingers in. "Might as well get it outta yer system now, Ratch', 'cause as soon as Sunny and Sides arrive, you _know_ you ain't havin' no more fun."

Not far to the left, two tall evergreens bowed as Bumblebee shimmied through. Having been guided by the rather obvious prints his fellow Autobots left behind, he found their hideaway easily. And if that wasn't enough, he could have followed the all the racket back to its source; the scout had heard Wheeljack's shouts all the way from Will's house. Stopping dead at the sight of Wheeljack straddling Ratchet's back and shovelling handfuls of snow into the medic's faceplate, Bumblebee stared as if he had suddenly wandered into an alternate universe. For their part, neither wrestling mech paid the yellow bot much mind. Spotting Optimus well away from the fray, Bumblebee quickly made his way over.

"I would say it was the thin air that was getting to them, but I doubt you would believe me," Optimus said in place of a greeting.

"There's so many strange things on this planet, I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case," Bumblebee laughed, scrambling up over loose rock to sit beside the Prime. "Although, one has to wonder if Wheeljack's craziness isn't contagious."

"That's a distinct possibly," Optimus chuckled, casting a wry glance to his CMO and head engineer, both of whom were forced to call a truce when they discovered they had used up all the snow in their near vicinity. Ratchet was holding up his surgical saws to keep Wheeljack at bay, and Wheeljack was brandishing an energon saw from his forearm. There was no threat in their stances. However, Ratchet did look distinctly peeved as his tried to wipe smears of dirt off his faceplate.

"Is the _Loki_ landing soon?" Bumblebee wondered, breaking the Prime from his appraisal of his mechs.

"They'll be in position soon," Optimus replied. "They'll alert us when they're ready."

"Ah, good." Bumblebee looked to be a pure bundle of ill-contained nervousness, shifting and glancing about. His optics were overly bright, and his doorwings twitched with every small movement he made.

"What of the Lennox family?" Optimus enquired, hoping to distract the scout for a short while.

Predictably, Bumblebee's optics flashed with the question, his faceplate perking up. "Oh, Sarah came back online shortly after you left. It took a while to explain everything, but I think she took the news relatively well," he informed. "I had to transform for her a few times before she believed what she was seeing." He paused, suddenly looking a little sheepish. "Annabelle kept laughing at me while I did it- I think she thinks I'm some giant toy."

Prime shook his head amusedly. "The human sparkling never ceases to amaze me," he intoned absently. "Such a frail little life, and yet she does not fear something so inherently dangerous to her. Much braver than even many adults of her kind."

Having never met another sparkling or youngling of his own kind, Bumblebee had no basis of comparision except from his own experiences. "It's kind of hard to tell, but maybe she knows that I won't hurt her. There are many documents on the internet indicating that human sparklings are very perceptive."

Optimus placed a fond hand atop Bumblebee's hand, smoothing the metal. "Perhaps that is it." There was no kinder spark in the universe than Bumblebee's. "Tell me, Sarah hasn't barred Will from the house, has she?"

"Not that I know of, but I did get the distinct feeling that she was waiting for me to leave so that she could _talk_ Will," the scout informed with a definite double entendre on _talk_. "But, thankfully, she received our plight rather well. Now that she knows why we are here and who's coming soon, she's invited us to stay as long as we need to."

"That's very kind of her," Optimus intoned, inclining his head. "We may have to take up that offer."

As Bumblebee began to ask how long they intended to stay, a bright white-blue flash lit the night, followed closely by a gravelled shout.

"Prime!" Ironhide barked, Optimus's title echoing amidst a stampede of footsteps as the heavy-set mech started for them. "They're coming!"

On cue, Optimus accepted a static-laden transmission, Chromia's voice ringing through-

"_We're in position, Optimus. Breaking the atmosphere- __**now**__." _


	37. Loki Lands II

* * *

Wow, life can sure kick you in the ass when it wants to, eh? Can't really complain, per se- life's been good, in a general sort of way, but it's been busy. I've hardly had time to work on any writing. So much inspiration, so little time! ;_; Oh well, _c'est la vie_. At least I have this chapter to post, which has been one epic rollercoaster ride to write. You'll see what I mean when you read it. My hope is that it tugs on your heartstrings as it did mine while I was writing everything. Cosmic love and hugs, everyone~

_When Prowl asks "Who is she?"_- I know this is a really small detail, but I want to point it out. When Prowl asks the question "who is she?", he uses a gender-neutral pronoun in Cybertronian, and the following conversation follows suit. The only reason "she" is used in the writing is because English lacks gender-neutral pronouns, and while I could have used "it", the choice felt inappropriate for the writing.

**Jason M. Lee**- Yeah, poor Sarah… there are so many better ways to be introduced to alien life forms. ^^; At least Annabelle took it better. xD

**Transformersfreak**- You'll find out about Prowl this chapter! ^_^

**Flameshield**- Yep, very right, the reunion is this chapter! Well, next couple of chapters, actually, but who's going to be picky? ;P Everyone deserves their own little spotlight as they go through the shock, sorrow, and happiness of coming to their new home and seeing old friends. :)

**Phoenix13**- lol! That _is_ a pretty funny image! I don't think there is a Christmas tree on the planet big enough to fit Bumblebee under it! XD

**Tears of Twisted Angels**- Ohhhhhhhh, you are so very right, my friend! There is going to be a whole range of emotions bound to come up! I can't wait to get to them all! :D

**FunkyFish1991**- They're on the ground _this_ chapter. I swear I'm not lying. Happy? The whole _Loki Lands_ saga is going to be a few chapters long, and I considered the last chapter as the first part of the saga, thus it has the title. Hopefully you'll be more satisfied with this chapter and all the emotional baggage that it entails. *sticks out tongue*

**Theshadowcat**- Sparks are bound to fly soon! Next chapter, I promise! This one is more for tears flowing.

**Elita One**- Yeah, cliffhangers, they're a horrible addiction of mine. ^^;

**Kittisbat**- Hey now, settle with the name-calling, yes? It harshes my mellow and makes it hard to write. The more cosmic love you throw at me, the more I'm inspired. :) But, sorry to confirm your predictions, your good mood is bound to be spoiled by this chapter. I wouldn't say it's a happy one by any stretch of the imagination….

**C-Wolfeh**- lol! Thanks! Ratchet and Wheeljack having a snowball fight was too rich to pass up! xD Glad you liked that scene! And thank you so much for the review! You're too kind. :)

**Silveriss**- Oh no, you dread to find out what happens to Prowl? …you may want to tread carefully when reading this chapter, then.

**Lecidre- **Ohhhhh, I hope I can lie up to your standards for the next few chapters! There's so much going on for the reunions, I've decided to build on each one through separate chapters. This one is for Prowl, and, sufficed to say, is mental stability is sorely tested. It was really hard to write this chapter because I relate so easily to what Prowl is going through. Hopefully the next chapter will perk everyone up- Ironhide and Chromia are bound to put on a show! ;P

**Independent C**- Oh, my friend, I am bound and determined to introduce some twists and turns into this story that no reader will see coming. You'll just have to stick around to see what crazy things I make happen next. ;P

**Chloo**- Gah! I'm probably just as excited as you are, and I'm the one writing the chapters! XD Let me tell you, everything that is about to unfold in the next couple of chapters is going to be either jaw-dropping, eye-catching, heart-rendering, awe-inspiring, or OH-MY-GOD-GRAB-A-TISSUE! There's so much to get through, both sad and fluffy, so hopefully you're prepared for it all. As for Prowl… I know you said be nice, and I was as nice as I could be, but I'm afraid this chapter still had to play out as it did…

**Balrog Roike**- Sarah's definitely a strong character. I think it was just the initial shocj that got to her. ;P As for worrying over the future of characters who will possibly die, don't turn grey doing it, okay? I'd hate for that to ruin your reading experience. No one lives forever, so please enjoy the story for the life while it's there.

**He03**- Teehee, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I do look forward to your reviews. Just as you say I have a gift for balancing the happiness with the sorrow, you have a gift for balancing the praise with such insightful thoughts. I love your opinions on the scenes in chapters, and I do hope I can live up to your expectations in future chapters, as with Chromia and Ironhide's reunion, and with Elita and Optimus. Primus know, those two couples are probably going to melt the keyboard right off my laptop when I begin writing for them. ;P As for Prowl… you'll just have to read and see what happens with him.

**Cynthia**- I'm so happy that you like the way I write for Optimus. He's a tricky mech to write for, since so many readers have their own interpretations and expectations of who they think he should be. He really did deserve the small reprieve I gave him, and hopefully he'll have Elita back for real soon. :)

**Dubious Serenity**- Awww, thanks so much. I'm so glad you like this story! Next chapter will be Ironhide and Chromia's reunion in detail! ;P

**CuteKitten**- I'm so honoured that you think so highly of my work. I really do enjoy writing, and the easy-flow chapters like that last one are such a joy to write. When I hear that readers like them just as much, I'm tickled pink! xD Wheeljack with the echoes and snowball fight… *laughs* I couldn't help it. It just felt like a very Wheeljack thing to do! xD

**Bluebird Soaring**- *gasp* You forgot that we lost Jazz? Shame! Shame! *just kidding! ;P * As for how Prowl is going to deal… this chapter might answer some of your questions, if not all…

**Sebastian Nyte**- I… wow. I don't know what to say to such high praise! It sounds like you really, truly do understand the story and realties that I'm trying to convey through this WE series I'm creating. Each character has a story, and each of their stories are important to this universe as a whole- they each have a purpose to serve, a lesson to teach… Gods, I'm on such a high from reading your review that I actually feel a little light-headed.

A special dedication to **FunkyFish1991** for her amazing detective work delving through the WE universe in order to find the identity of the little green bot, and then wrote a PM (it was more like an essay! XD ) about who she is and what significance she must have to Sunstreaker. Gawds, girl, my hat is off to you for your dedication and investment in this story. I had you in mind when I finally wrote in that last puzzle piece regarding Sunny and his mysterious art subject.

Special credits to artists and friends alike who have inspired me, grown to be close friends, or otherwise are just plain awesome: **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Bunnylass, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte **and **FunkyFish1991**

**As We Come Together  
****In Which the **_**Loki**_** Lands II  
~**

The retching noise that grated through the door was enough to make Sunstreaker want to turn around and go back the way he came.

It was the morbid sense of fascination that kept him rooted to the spot. To him, an infallible being laid beyond the door of metal and paint, a mech of whom he and his brother had always held in a high regard in both respect and contempt. They had served under him for centuries, fighting beside him and fighting with him; they had protected each others backs on the battlefield and yet turned around on base to rig his office with the latest in pranks. They were as different from each other as any two mechs could be; Prowl lived for order and logic, and the twins did _not._ Literally world apart. Not a speck in common aside from the metals their frames were made of.

They had been comrades for literally eons, and yet they knew virtually _nothing_ about each other. It was that fascination of the unknown that kept Sunstreaker rooted to his spot.

"_I know you're there." _

The voice that came through the door was so out-of-character with who Sunstreaker thought of as Prowl that it caused him to jerk back. It was as if a complete stranger lurked in the room beyond. Angered by such a lapse in his usually aloofness, Sunstreaker made up for it by inputting the override code for the door. He co-owned the ship, so he had no qualms about leaning into the doorway as the door hissed open for him. There was a moment of blindness as the stark light of the hall was traded for the inky greyness of Prowl's room. Pale optics gleamed from the far corner of the room, and Sunstreaker couldn't help but notice the deeper ochre glint to them.

"What do you want?" Prowl croaked, wary of the golden mech's entrance.

It took a moment to recognize the voice as Prowl's. For everything that Sunstreaker knew of the mech, it _wasn't_ Prowl's voice. There was just something about it…

Those pale optics watching him narrowed, sharpened. They started to look more like the ice cold Autobot everyone knew so well. He moved to stand, only to stumble, crashing back to the floor on shaking knees, a dry sob falling from his mouth plates. _A sob. _

"_What do you want, Sunstreaker?" _

It was then that Sunstreaker realized what new quality had changed Prowl's voice into an almost unrecognizable candescence: _emotion_. Painful emotion, at that. It reminded him of the storm in Prowl's head he'd been forced to endure, the uncontrolled madness of rampant emotions. He watched Prowl turn his faceplate to the waste receptacle and purge into it, slimy trails of concentrated energon dragged up from the bottom of his tanks to spew out, sticky trails of it still hanging from his mouthplates. All that emotion roiling inside was making him _sick_.

"What's wrong with you?" Sunstreaker asked, and then grimaced at how unrefined the question sounded. He had meant it as a form of sympathy, but it had been so long since he had tried sympathy on another living being, other than his brother. In every way that was essential, he had forgotten how to use it. The question came out sounding like he was disgusted, which, to a small degree, he was.

"Come to gloat, have you?" Prowl asked, spite dripping from the question. "I would have thought it'd be Sideswipe to come to see how the mighty have fallen." There was bitterness there, too. And an overwhelming amount of agony. It was as if someone had taken over Prowl's body- a strange kind of alien that was frightening and yet sadly pathetic. A shade of the former austere pride and power Prowl had always embodied.

"I'm not here to gloat," Sunstreaker said, staring at Prowl because he couldn't tear his optics away. For once, he didn't feel at all like himself. He felt rather small; disturbingly helpless as he struggled to figure out what to do.

"You're here for something," Prowl insisted, optics flashing with the viciousness of the accusation..

"I…" For a moment, his reasons for being there had actually slipped his mind. It came back after an astrosecond. "We're approaching Earth's atmosphere."

Prowl said nothing, his optics drifting from Sunstreaker's to the floor as the immensity of the news hit him; they were about to land, about to see the Autobots again. They were about to be reunited with their leader Optimus Prime, and Prowl was about to see Jazz again. The news _should_ have been great. Instead, Prowl could feel nothing but bitter and a little nauseated. How was he supposed to face the Earth-bound Autobots when his mental faculties could hardly be called stable? He was in tatters, an emotional _wreck_, incapable of turning off his emotional center anymore. How could he be expected to face his fellow Autobots in the sorry state he was in?

Noting Prowl's extreme lack of reaction to the news, Sunstreaker frowned, inching closer. "Didn't you hear me? I said we're approaching Earth-."

"I heard you."

Sunstreaker frowned deeper, optics narrowing. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

A clawed hand gave a flippant gesture. "It's _Earth_: the sacred mudball of all our problems' answers. Shouldn't you be-?"

"Happy?" Prowl's optics turned up, revealing a wild look of anxiety. Unadulterated terror. An astrosecond passed, and then he disappeared into the waste receptacle, dry-heaving. By reflex, Sunstreaker recoiled, but his morbid fascination kept him rooted to the spot. As the nausea passed, Prowl pushed away. Ochre-tinted optics shuttered as if in pain. "I don't know what I feel right now."

He sounded so bitter. So sick of himself.

Unable to resist, Sunstreaker posed his initial question again. He didn't understand why he kept asking it. "What's wrong with you?" This time he sounded more neutral, even empathetic. Was it from his dalliance into Prowl's head that made him want to try to be kinder towards the mech? Or was he truly gaining a speck of his spark back?

Prowl went rigid, suddenly remembering in depth who they were to each other, their rank, and the eternal antagonism between them.

"Nothing is wrong," he snarled, which became a blatant lie as he attempted to stand, stumbling again on numb feet. His hands shot out to catch himself on the wall, but it was a pair of steady golden arms that caught him before he fell.

"You're a pathetic lair," Sunstreaker admonished, his customary scathing contrasted by the disturbingly gentle gesture of helping Prowl to his berth. "There's something wrong with you, and everyone knows it. You're taking energizer to cover it up." He made a sharp noise to cut off the tactician's automatic denial- a noise he usually used with Sideswipe. His brother usually ignored it, but Prowl quieted. "Don't even try to deny it. I know what energizer looks like; Sideswipe and I saw what Chromia poured into you when you had that attack. I don't know what else you'd expect us to think it was."

Prowl eased away from the warrior's touch, disturbed by Sunstreaker's out-of-character kindness and by how demeaning it felt to be helped by him. "What's wrong with me is none of your concern."

Backing away two steps, the other mech shrugged. "You're right, it's not. I don't know why I bothered asking." He turned for the door, making his way out into the hall. This time, when he heard a choked sob, he did not stop for it. Sideswipe transmitted a short message, letting him know that they were having a hard time positioning the ship at the right angle to compensate for the cloud cover over their landing site. Knowing his twin had landed the ship under far more difficult circumstance, Sunstreaker spared him little more than a passing grace of assurance.

"_Wait,"_ someone croaked, stalling Sunstreaker's full retreat. It was a weak sound, barely loud enough for his audio receptors to discern it. Unable to understand why he was drawn by the tiny voice, the melee warrior found himself back at Prowl's door. The tactician had not moved from his berth, head bowed in a shame that only he could feel.

"What is it now? I don't have all orn to be jerked around by you," Sunstreaker growled.

"You were in my head, weren't you? You should know what's wrong with me," the mech admitted quietly, bitterly. His fists clenched and unclenched against the berth.

Sunstreaker flinched away from the accusation, wishing nothing more than to forget his experience in Prowl's head. It was hard enough living in his own and sharing with Sideswipe, adding a third was only asking for trouble. "It's not like I got that far," he said. "Your firewalls stopped me."

"Good." Though it was hard to tell with his head bowed, Prowl looked marginally cheered by the news.

"Frag you." To Sunstreaker's susprise, Prowl actually flinched at the curse. If he had cared about the tactician's so-called "feelings", the golden mech might have apologized. Thankfully, he didn't care.

After a long, uncomfortable silence spent with Prowl staring at the floor and Sunstreaker glaring at Prowl, the tactician finally spoke.

"You were right about the energizer. I've been taking it for… a very long time."

By an incredible force of will, Sunstreaker resisted purring a self-satisfied '_knew it'_.

"I've been taking it in order to keep going."

With an air of nonchalance, Sunstreaker shrugged. "Big deal. I know a thousand different bots who would kill for the quality of energizer you have. What I want to know is _why_? You're the last mech I'd ever expect to sink so low."

Prowl's optics flashed, having expected admonition, only to remember that he was speaking to _Sunstreaker_, not one of his superiors. Not even one of his _equals_. Everything logical in Prowl screamed to back out now, to mute it and pretend that their exchange never happened, but logic was not in power that the moment. He _needed_ someone to talk to, even if that someone was one of the most infuriating mechs he had ever had the displeasure of knowing; a known killer, berserker, narcissistic twit, and the one mech who had the faintest idea of what was going on inside his head because he had been the one to invade it.

Sunstreaker made a soft noise of annoyance, having received no answer. "You're covering for something else."

There was a short pause, and then, "_Yes,_" was hissed in the silence.

"Figured as much."

Prowl remained silent for too long after that, trembling as he reined in the maelstrom of emotional debris bombarding him from the inside. He never realized before how emotionally motivated he was to hit Sunstreaker in the faceplate until now. He _really_ wanted to hit him. Nevertheless, he admitted, "I don't feel good."

Sunstreaker slanted him an incredulous look. "Well no fragging duh."

Prowl growled. Not his most eloquent sentence ever. "No, I mean I don't feel well as in… I'm not good with my..." There was a kind of vile shame in admitting the truth that he couldn't quite swallow.

"Emotions?" Sunstreaker prompted. "Again: _no duh."_

Without his usual mental restraints in place, Prowl almost bolted off the berth to strike the other mech. It took almost more effort that it was worth to keep himself seated. "I was built for Security Response before the war-."

"How could I forget?" Sunstreaker sneered.

Prowl shot him a sharp look, wishing not to be interrupted if he was to bare his spark. _Do not hit. Do not hit. Do not hit. _"The tactical division I was made for didn't often practice programming pre-programs with emotional centers. It got in the way of calculating statistical data. We were free to learn, though, if we wanted to."

"And you wanted to?"

"Out of curiosity." Prowl's storm-grey head bowed, shaking slowly from side to side. "It was possibly the worst calculated mistake of my life." He shuttered his optics, dragging in strained drafts of air. "I was only beginning to learn to manage what I felt when the war broke out. After that, there was simply no time or energy to devote to managing my... 'problem'."

Sunstreaker nodded silently, remembering how Prowl had been long ago in the early stages of the war. Some orns, he was an almost average mech- not too quick on the jokes, and disgustingly by-the-book, but still pretty tolerable when he wasn't fritzing over a prank. Other orns, he was like a completely different mech. He turned as cold as ice, calculating, and damn-near unforgiving. Plenty of Autobots had thought it was a bipolar glitch in Prowl's programming, but now his behaviour was staring to make sense.

"You turned off your emotional center." A statement, not a question.

Prowl nodded slowly. "Yes."

Sunstreaker canted his head in consideration. "I didn't know you could do that, not without a medic anyways..."

"It's not healthy for you, with or without a medic." Understatement of the vorn, if his current condition was anything to go by. "Once you learn emotions, you can't _unlearn_ them. It's one of the quirks that medics can't really explain- they can't delete or reprogram emotions like they would any other faulty data. Once an emotion is in your processor, it's permanent." He said permanent like it was a death sentence.

"So you just shut it all off?"

"Yes. It only worked for a few orns at a time, and the backlash was- _is _very hard to deal with, but it was… _is_ so much easier to work without emotions getting in the way."

Sunstreaker could almost relate. Working without emotional baggage had made it easier to kill his opponents in the ring during his gladiator vorns. Back then, the medics sometimes shut off Sideswipe's and his emotional centers to make them better killers. After a while, he didn't need his emotional center turned off- his spark had gone numb to the kills. Thankfully, his brother had always been there to drag him back before he fell to far. Prowl, on the other hand, had had-

"Jazz."

A flicker of life passed through Prowl's optics. _Jazz. _"What about him?"

Sunstreaker straightened. "He came- he changed things."

A long, tired sigh poured from every vent on Prowl's frame. "Yes, he certainly changed things..." Like some slow spreading rust, the saboteur had caught hold of him and slowly worked under his armour until it had been impossible to remove him. A _Decepticon_, of all bots, the most illogical of them all, and Prowl had had no choice but to fall for him. "He helped me handle things- showed me ways to have better control. Techniques for management…" His magnetic touch, his claws gliding over smooth metal, dragging underneath plating; never a movement out of place, never in a rush, as if he had always known what Prowl needed. His infallible mind sliding into his, calming the wild storm, building defences, helping clumsy, helpless Prowl learn to embrace the illogical.

"And then he left for the Allspark," Sunstreaker intoned. "There was no one to help you anymore."

"It was fine for a long time- _I_ was fine," Prowl injected automatically. "I had dealt long enough with my issue before Jazz to have had a handle on my faculties without him. I did everything I could- tried using every technique he showed me, but…" his voice drifted away, weak and exhausted. "Vorns just kept passing, bots kept dying, then Cybertron fell out of orbit and we had to evacuate; there was nothing for our side to do for a tactical advantage."

Sunstreaker nodded solemnly. Those had been dark vorns for everyone.

"We _needed_ an edge," Prowl continued, sounding as if he were begging for someone to understand why he did what he did. "I started turning off my emotional center again- it was the most logical thing for me to do in order to help the Autobots to be the best of my abilities. Except, each time I did, I kept leaving it off for longer and longer... Something just kept telling me that I could do more with it off. I didn't need to turn it back on. It came to a point where I couldn't bare turning it back on- it would hurt so much..." His gaze turned hollow, haunted. "I didn't want to feel... I didn't want to suffer the backlash from it, or live orn to orn _feeling_ everything. I don't want to feel right now." A rattling drag of air. "I wasn't built for this kind of thing."

The other Autobot regarded him carefully. "The energizer was supposed to help with what? Not feeling? Keeping your emotional center turned off?"

A dull nod. "It gave me the boost I needed to keep everything else suppressed. I handled myself fine for vorns."

"You didn't count on the cumulative effects of energizer, did you?" He canted his head, curious, even if he already knew the answer.

"I've been extremely reckless as of late." He paused, shaking his head again. "No, I've been extremely reckless for a long time, and because of that, I have been putting this crew in danger. My only concern has been Jazz ever since Optimus Prime's call was received. Nothing else seemed to matter."

"No offense, but the _Loki_ isn't about to fall apart just because you have a breakdown. But if you _died_, which, by the way, you're pretty close to doing with all those energizer nanobots in you, that might cause us _a little bit_ of strife."

Prowl shook his head slowly, drawing in on himself. He had never felt so self-conscious before. He despised being forced to feel all of this at once. "I thought I had the energizer under control."

"You thought wrong, then."

"I see that now."

It was suddenly awkward once more in the room. Sunstreaker looked away, to the scuffed, dusty floor where his faded graffiti-memories stared back at him. "If you don't take anymore, you should be fine," he said.

"What about the nanobots?" He touched one of his off-colour optics, flinching away at the contact. The area was sore, painful to blink, the pressure behind them verging on unmanagable.

Sunstreaker shrugged. "If you really want them gone, Sideswipe knows ways of draining them, but it's not pleasant… It would hurt." He shook his head. "When we land, Ratchet will be able to help you more. He'll know what to do." Ratchet _always_ knew what to do.

"Of course," Prowl sighed. "Shouldn't you be getting back to the bridge to help Sideswipe navigate down?"

"He can do it on his own- he's a big bot," Sunstreaker said with a dismissive air. He had more faith in his brother than he was willing to let on. "Doesn't act like it, but he knows what he's doing."

"Right…" The storm-grey mech shifted in the light beaming in from the windows, cast off from the bright blue planet they orbited. His paint had gone dull, faded from neglect. Dust was gathered in the slates between armour. Some of the armour plates laid in disarray, quirked in awkward angles because no one bothered to maintenance the bolts and hinges holding them in place. Not a single detail about the tactician was going to impress Jazz in the least.

Sunstreaker lifted a hand to his audio as Sideswipe sent him another message, this one paired with a fresh flare of frustration through their bond. He had missed his mark and they had to circle around to have a fresh go. They would have to wait for the proper cloud cover to come back. Perhaps there would be enough time to…

"Wait here," Sunstreaker commanded. He turned on his heel and glided out to his own quarters. He returned shortly with a small armful of things, setting them next to Prowl for his assessment. Prowl let one of his fingers curl into the soft bundle of cloth included in the assortment of things. It was a well-loved polishing cloth the melee warrior undoubtedly guarded with his life. Next to it laid a container of polish, and next to that was a compact maintenance kit.

"What are these for?" the tactician asked dully. The other Autobot couldn't possibly be offering to maintenance him. Sunstreaker and altruism were two things that existed in two different universes, never together. It was as illogical as… well, nothing else quite compared.

Sunstreaker, for that matter, appeared to be having just as much trouble reconciling with what he was preparing to do. He blamed it all on being inside Prowl's head. That stupid snare program had messed with his mind somehow. It was making him be _nice_.

"They're for you," he said, trying not to sound as stupid as he felt. "I thought you'd like to clean yourself up… for Jazz. We have time."

Nodding, still a little confused, Prowl tried to grasp the maintenance kit. The trembling in his hand made the metal rattle. He couldn't still himself long enough to catch the latch. Grimacing, Sunstreaker flipped the latch for him. Prowl stared listlessly into the contents, trying to decide what lost cause he should embark on first.

"It's Sideswipe's kit," Sunstreaker intoned, offering a one-shouldered shrug. "He doesn't use it much- likes mine better." He took up the raggedy dusting cloth stuffed inside, folding it around his fingers to begin scouring it over Prowl's armour. He was careful at first, each movement tracked by the tactician's once sharp, now dull optics. Wiping away accumulated dust, Sunstreaker tried not to look into those dull optics; sometimes it was Prowl who looked back, and sometimes it was not. Either way, he didn't like what he saw. Mirroring attention he only would reserve for himself, and occasionally his brother, Sunstreaker started dusting at the shoulder, working down the arm, moving down to the leg, ankle, foot, then to the other foot, ankle, leg, and up again. Weak fingers, trembling hand, limp arm, a slumped shoulder; he dusted everywhere that needed a good dusting.

Prowl didn't dare say anything of the out-of-character treatment, not trusting his vocal processor. He couldn't even trust his mind or spark. After a short while, he relaxed somewhat. There was no way to describe how _surreal_ it felt to be tended to by Sunstreaker, of all Autobots.

They both stilled when Sunstreaker's claws came to the twisted metal of Prowl's neck. Only a few orns prior, golden claws had been wrapped around that same storm-grey neck, trying to tear the head off and put them both out of their misery. Mesmerized by the sight of the carnage he'd inflicted, Sunstreaker remained unmoving, unblinking. Even now, he could imagine how easy it would be to simply wrap his hands around the metal and _squeeze._ But unlike before, there was no urge to do so. The mere thought of trying disgusted him. His hand hovered unsurely in the air, unable to move forward, unable to pull away.

Prowl strangely lacked the urge to cover his vulnerability. He stared straight ahead and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

As if the question broke a spell, Sunstreaker moved back into motion. In one smooth motion, he touched the joint where Prowl's faceplate met his neck column and stroked downward all the way to where his neck folded his chassis. "I don't know," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "Penitence, maybe?"

Prowl closed his optics, tilting his head back to allow better access. "You don't strike me as someone who seeks penitence from anyone."

"And you never struck me as someone who's really a fragged-up emotional wreck." He moved from gently administering to the neck, over the faceplate, around the cranial crests, and then down to the ridges and contours of Prowl's scarred chest. He never looked into the pale ochre optics that followed him.

"Even after all this time, I guess we are still strangers to each other," Prowl intoned, sounding oddly like his old self. "How odd."

"I guess…"

Around them, the ship rattled. A hollow, metal _thunk_ echoed from the outside.

"_Sorry, sorry- I hit a satellite, everyone! Nothing to worry about," _Sideswipe called over the comm. _"There's so much junk up here, I can't move anywhere without throwing something out of orbit." _

Prowl sighed, an unbidden ghost of a smile crossing his faceplate. He felt no urge to chastise the red melee warrior, nor implore him to be more discreet. Perhaps, like Sunstreaker, he had never given the other mech enough credit? …Or perhaps that was simply his emotional center talking.

Sunstreaker chose to ignore the flash of smile he caught out of the corner of his optic. Next from the maintenance kit, a small wedge and a powerful magnet were brought to bear. To his own shame, Sunstreaker's hands trembled minutely as he inserted the wedge under the crumpled armour of Prowl's neck. Was he tempted to finish what he started? He couldn't tell. Sliding the magnet over the intended spot, he pushed with the wedge and pulled with the magnet to pop the armour back out. It was a slow process, a little uncomfortable, but thankfully painless. He had a lot of experience popping dents. As soon as he was done, the melee warrior leaned back to examine his work.

"See how that feels," he murmured.

Prowl moved his neck- side to side, nodding, shaking, twisting the column. He lifted his hands and felt the new smoothness of the plating, the lingering field of the magnet tickling his palms. "It's good- doesn't even kink."

Nodding, Sunstreaker moved on to his next task, taking up delicate tools to loosen bolts, small dispensers of oils and lubricants to ease hinges. He sorted them to his liking, setting each one at an almost ritualistic distance from the other, timed to when he would need them, reach for them. With patience that no other Autobot would have thought him capable of, he went about setting Prowl's armour straight. It was what he often did with Sideswipe when his brother was too weak from battle to do it himself, or else the little urchin was lazy and simply wanted his brother to his maintenance for him. There was only one other he had ever treated like this, a strange, beetle-green medic who, frustratingly, held no regard for hygiene or self-maintenance. Cleaning her had been an act of self-preservation at first- Primus only knew who she'd contaminate when covered in so much filth- but eventually he eventually came to enjoy using her like a doll, and she had submitted to him as freely as Prowl was now.

Hating his current train of thought, Sunstreaker growled to himself. Icy blue light flashed as his optics narrowed. He did not want to think of _her_.

Prowl said nothing of the disturbance, allowing Sunstreaker the privacy of his own thoughts. Instead, het let his gaze wander to the artistry covering every available surface of the Loki. He was astonished with himself to have ever thought that any of the work was nothing more than graffiti. Logically dictated, the murals were a waste of paint, the time taken to paint them could have been used doing something constructive, everything about them were an excess of uselessness. Seen through his optics now, he could see the spark that artist must have put into his work. The faceplates of the bots he painted were all so vibrant, their features lively. Joors of love and effort must have been invested in each image. It was hard to believe such a narcissistic sociopath was capable of creating such beautiful works of art.

The only noise in the room now was the sound of the polish container's top being screwed off. By the fresh, sharp scent, Prowl knew it was of a higher-quality than he had ever used in his life. Generic brands did the job just as well. He did not need to look to know that Sunstreaker was already going through his ritualized steps for polishing; folding his polishing cloth a certain way, adjusting it in his hands for the best grip, deciding where to begin polishing. Their optics met for a split astroseconds, Sunstreaker recoiling minutely. As if escaping Prowl's gaze, he climbed onto the berth to start polishing the tactician's back.

Prowl leaned forward, pressing his mouthplates together when a fresh wave of nausea bubbled up in him. He let his optics drift back to the paintings, a single image drawing his curiosity. He had seen on several occasions throughout the _Loki_ but had assigned no significance to it. The only reason he took greater notice now was because he had seen the same faceplate somewhere else- in Sunstreaker's _mind_. The bot must have been very important, or else the snare program never would have touched the memory.

"Who is she?" Prowl enquired quietly, tilting his head to the side as a hand worked its way around his shoulder and neck, rubbing in small circles to work the polish in.

"Who?"

Prowl nodded towards the figure he meant, a smudge of green amongst so many faded colours. "The green one," he said. "You paint her a lot."

Automatically, Sunstreaker's gaze shot to the ghost on the wall. "She's no one."

Grunting as Sunstreaker's touch turned not-so-gentle, Prowl dared to glance back, noting a handsome faceplate wrought into hard lines. Not his usual distain, but the look of a mech trying not to think of something that would bring him pain.

"She must be someone important," the tactician intoned carefully.

Icy optics closed for an astrosecond, a deep drag of air sucking in through his intakes. "How important can a dead bot be?" he asked bitterly.

Prowl shrugged. "Sometimes the dead can be as important as the living." With the pang that hit his spark, he hoped to Primus that he wasn't jinxing himself with his own words.

No answer came in return. Sunstreaker looked away, shaking his head, though thankfully stuck to the task of polishing Prowl. Their silence stretched for long moments as Sideswipe once again banged into a satellite. Chromia occasionally come over the comm. to announce something, or else she clicked by in the corridor to check that Arcee was ready, while Arcee cursed over the fact that she did not want to leave the ship. No one came to look in on either Prowl or Sunstreaker. One would have supposed they had been forgotten by the other inhabitants of the _Loki_, but the truth was that Sideswipe had felt something very odd from his brother- a compassion he had not felt in eons- and had begged Chromia to leave them be for as long as they needed.

Prowl let himself think of Jazz, of the promise they had made each other when they reunited. They would that the more illogical step of all, bonding their sparks for forever more. A part of him was terrified of such a notion. Yet another part that eagerly trembled to join with the saboteur. A paradox that tangled his logistical circuits whenever he thought of the subject. Hopefully Jazz remembered his promise. Always such a fickle mech, there was the chance that he had changed his mind, but one could only hope his spark hadn't changed.

Sunstreaker let his hands roam, bringing Prowl's frame to a gleaming perfection. Not so handsome compared to his own frame, but a close second. But he could hardly enjoy a job well done. Thanks to Prowl, it was another's faceplate that haunted his mind. She laid superimposed over everything he stared at. Her dull optics stared back at him from the reflection in Prowl's armour. Her ghost continued to haunt him.

"_I've alerted Prime," _Chromia announced over the comm. _"They're ready and waiting for us." _

"_Alright everyone, hold on tight. We're breaking through the atmosphere," _Sideswipe cheered, finally setting the _Loki_ into a descent.

Lucky timing, Sunstreaker thought as slid his polish away, solemnly approving of his work. "Jazz won't even recognize you," he said, daring a half-smile.

Prowl looked down at himself, somewhat in awe. He attempted to slide from the berth, but his legs gave out as they touched the floor, forcing Sunstreaker to catch him.

"Thank you," the tactician sighed.

Shrugging, the golden mech hoisted Prowl to a more comfortable position supported against him. "Just make sure you can walk when we disembark. I'm not carrying you out." He couldn't be sure, but he could have sworn he heard Prowl laugh. They made it to the door when the melee warrior paused one last time, shifting pensively from one foot to the other.

"Something the matter?" Prowl asked, slanting him a curious glance.

"No, nothing." The tactician had divulged so much about himself, by some odd degree, he wanted- no, _needed _to say something in return. Needed to reveal a burden of his own. "That green bot you were wondering about," Sunstreaker began unsurely, optics dimming. "Her designation was Moonfly."

"Moonfly," Prowl repeated softly, the image of the bot's once-living faceplate crossing his mind's optic, a lingering remnant from the golden mech's memories.

Sunstreaker nodded mournfully. "She… was my lover."

* * *

Despite cloud cover and the awkwardness of landing in the palm of several mountains, the _Loki_'s landing was a blessedly smooth transition from sky to terra firma. After cooing sweet praises to his dear little ship for surviving one more abuse in the rigors of space travel and planet fall, Sideswipe powered down the engines, transformed, and made a beeline for the hangar where the main hatchway of the ship was located. Chromia followed suit soon after collecting Arcee from her quarters. Moments after her arrival, Sunstreaker and Prowl entered.

"You took your sweet time," Sideswipe teased, looking curiously from his twin to the tactician. "Have fun all alone in that room together?" He tried to wheedle out something about their secret time together through Sunstreaker, but all he got was the equivalent of a whack to the back of his head through their bond.

"Mind your own business, Sides," his twin warned firmly.

Raising his hands in surrender, the mech bowed away. "Fine, whatever. Just hurry up or Little Miss Sunshine over there is going to blow a gasket waiting for that hatch to open." He nodded to Chromia, who paced like a caged animal amid the electrical storm crackling around her.

Straightening to his full height, Prowl tried to look as normal and inexpressive as he could. "We're here now, so you might as well open the hatch." He took a step, wavered, though was thankfully caught by a golden hand at his elbow.

Sideswipe's optic ridges rose. "Right… okay." He looked the tactician up and down carefully, as if seeing him in a strange new light. "You look different." His gaze slipped from Prowl to his twin's hands, which shone bright with excess polish. Again, his optic ridges rose. His gaze then met his twin's, and for once mischief could not be seen in the clear blue depths, only a strange curiosity, concern. As soon as they had a moment alone, Sunstreaker was bound to tell him everything.

"I was able to get to the wash racks," Prowl lied, unable to admit to the humiliation of being unable to maintenance himself. "Now, if we can get to the matter at hand-."

"**Hurry up!"** Chromia snapped, causing all three mechs to jump. "I want to get off this damned ship _now_!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Sideswipe called, scooting for the controls. "Sweet Primus, keep your armour on, you crazy femme!"

Chromia apparently thought he wasn't moving fast enough, bringing her blaster to bear. He moved considerably faster once he realized he was in her crosshairs. A short sequence was input onto the control panel, followed by a nasty buzz, meaning the ship didn't want to listen to the command. Snorting, Sideswipe whacked the panel a few times, which got the desired result. As the hatch gave a groan, everyone took a collective drag of air in through their intakes.

Chromia trotted to Arcee's side, slinging an arm around her to help her down the ramp. "He's not going to care what you look like," she assured, even as Arcee recoiled from the electric shock her keeper just served her.

"_I _care what I look like," she countered stubbornly.

Chromia sniffed testily. "Well, tough. None of them are going to care."

A sliver of midnight sky was revealed, a vista of towering frosted mountains rising high into the velvet sky.

Prowl backed away step, his spark fluttering against the insides of his sparkcase. He was so anxious, _nervous_, he felt like he was about to purge again. The shaking in his frame notably intensified. Out of habit, he attempted to shut down his emotional center for better control, only to have a sharp spike of pain run through his head as his whole CPU rejected the attempt.

"You still okay to walk?" Sunstreaker asked, low enough so that no one overheard.

"Yes."

The swaying tops of the trees came into view, still dancing to the gushes of air the _Loki_ had stirred up. Dark greens, soft whites of snow, deep browns of the trunks, the blacks of the forest deep shadows.

"Primus, this place really is organic!" Sideswipe exclaimed, leaning out to get a better look at his new alien homeworld.

Finally, _finally_, the hatch eased all the way down to the snowy ground, revealing the shining eager optics of the five gathered Autobots waiting to welcome them to their new home.

Twin bursts of blinding light suddenly lit the night, matched by a pair of eager roars-

"**Ironhide!" **

"**Chromia!" **

With Arcee caught helpless in the whirlwind, several tons of black and blue metal stampeded for each other, colliding in a jarring crescendo that sounded like it hurt. The moment the sparkmates' frames came into contact with each other, an explosion of light and energy surged off them. It was intense that it evaporated the snow from the ground, setting the brittle grass to a humid steam. A warm shockwave rippled the air, brushing across the armour of the unwitting voyeurs in the vicinity.

"A reunion _and_ a show, lucky us," Sideswipe laughed, shielding his optics. His vantage point offered a rather entertaining view of Chromia and Ironhide grappling with each other, poor Arcee mashed in between. The only thing that could be seen of the smaller femme was a flailing grey stick-like shape while the silhouettes of Chromia and Ironhide clung to each other, shaking with the intensity of being together again. When the excess energy died down to manageable levels, Ironhide was on the ground, both femmes gathered in his arms. He had a full view of Arcee, yet he didn't pull away. He held her tight and dared to rub his forehead to the top of her head. Chromia had her hands gripped to the sides of Ironhide's faceplate, making sure he was real, memorizing every minute detail, her mouthplates moving soundlessly as she praised Primus and beyond that her grumpy old mech was whole and alive.

Sideswipe turned a cheeky glance over his shoulder. "Careful bro, old bot lovin' ahead," he joked, to which Sunstreaker rolled his optics. Turning back to the entrance, the red warrior hopped down the first half of the ramp, saluting happily to Prime, grinning for Bumblebee, winking to Ratchet to frag him off, and then raised his hand to wave at Jazz. He froze mid-wave. Jazz wasn't there. Wheeljack was.

Dropping his hand, Sideswipe did a double-take of the gathering, making sure he hadn't missed the saboteur. He scanned for Jazz's spark resonance. He looked to Ratchet to answer his unasked question. Ratchet always had the answer to everything. Except this time the medic said nothing, bowing his head solemnly instead.

Sideswipe stumbled back a step. "Oh no…"

Not yet to the hatch, Prowl sensed the sudden change in mood, able to hear Sideswipe's breathy exclamation. A cold ball of dread fell into his spark. _Something was wrong._ His battle computer instantly started running a thousand different scenarios, which only served to make his tanks churn, his knees weaken.

Sideswipe reappeared in the hatchway, stark optics first drawn to his brother, then shooting anxiously to Prowl. "Maybe… maybe you shouldn't come down just yet…" he said uneasily. _Jazz is dead _was transmitted loud and clear between the spark-spilt brothers.

_Primus, no. _Sunstreaker was not fast enough to catch Prowl as he bolted by. Possessed by a strength stemming from his sudden desperation, he shot out the hatch, easily dodging by Sideswipe and skidding to the ground at the feet of the Earth-bound Autobots. His optics darted from one faceplate to the next- Optimus Prime-Bumblebee-Ironhide-Ratchet-Wheeljack. No Jazz. _Wheeljack._

A new tension filtered through the Cybertronians as they watched Prowl. Tracked him. He was the mech they had always known as the most logical, the most reserved, the calmest, the most level-headed, and now it looked as if he were teetering in the brink.

"Where is he?" Prowl croaked, acutely aware of every present Autobots' spark resonance. Prime was directly in front of him, Ratchet and Wheeljack to the left, Ironhide, Chromia and Arcee were to the right, with Bumblebee frozen mid-step on his way to them. The twins were stationary on the ramp behind him. There was a gaping hole where Jazz's resonance was supposed to be. A foreboding knot twisted tight around his spark, a sickness settling deep inside him. Something was very, very wrong. He knew the truth deep down, but couldn't bring himself to say it.

Optimus dared a step forward, his hand extended as if trying to tempt a cornered animal. "Prowl…"

"_Where is he?!"_

There was a collective flinch at the wild pitch Prowl's voice took. It was caught by the mountains and echoed back like a banshee scream. As the sound faded, a new sound reverberated in the night, the rattling of Prowl's frame as his grip on himself started to fray. The brittle sanity resting like cobwebs around him stretched to breaking, coming apart. White-ochre optics looked to Optimus's pleadingly, mouthplates moving though no sound came out.

Ratchet bolted straight, recognizing the symptoms. The voice, the stance, the behaviour- why hadn't he seen it sooner; Prowl's emotional center was _on_, and it was obvious he wasn't in control. Oh Primus, nothing good could come of this if they didn't handle it properly…

Optimus turned his head away, as if he couldn't bear to look at the mech. _"I'm sorry."_

"_No," _he moaned. The words didn't have to be said for him to know the truth. "_Please, no_." His voice didn't even sound like his own. The world felt swept out from beneath his feet, his spark suddenly too alive in his sparkcase as it burned with every pulse. Primus, it _burned_. Hot. Cold. He burned from the inside out. "Jazz- he can't be… he promised…"

"I wish I had better news to give you," the Prime intoned solemnly, optics dim as he regarded the forest floor. "He went out fighting Megatron."

A noise passed from Prowl's vocal processor that there was no name for; a strangled noise that was a cross between a sob and gasp, constricted by the intensity of everything that was hitting him at once. A feverish kind of insanity hit him, his arms coming around himself, hunched over double as if someone had just punched him in the abdomen. That first strangled noise was followed by another, and another, until it evolved into an unadulterated fit. It was not a pretty thing to watch as Prowl devolved right before their optics, but none could bring themselves to move as the mech slowly sank to the ground.

"No…no-no-no… he promised- _he promised_." His frame felt too tight. Too hot. Too wild. A ringing had begun in his audios, his head thick with a heavy pressure building up everywhere. He felt so fragging sick, yet there was nothing to purge. The pressure just kept building, like he was swelling. There were too many things to feel at once, and no way to turn it all off. No way to tune it out. "He's supposed to be alive!" His fists shot out, craters appearing in the ground with violence he struck the earth with. So out of control. Spinning so fast. Everything had stopped making sense. "Damn it, _he's supposed to be alive!"_ He struck the earth again, harder. Lights exploded behind his optics as energon lines split from the pressure. What ran down his faceplate in a mockery of tears was not pure energon but a topaz ooze, congealed energon thick with dead nanobots.

The sudden release of pressure left him dizzy, gasping. His internal balancing mechanisms gave out, leaving him to waver pathetically on his hands and knees for a moment before falling forward. His tanks were empty, so he could only dry heave into the snow. The ooze that leaked from his optics stained the ground in tarlike pools. The night had turned so quiet that the only thing to be heard for miles now was the near-silent crying drifting from the mech, shivering uncontrollably from things worse than the cold.

Optimus crept forward, kneeling by the tactician's head while avoiding the pools of off-colour energon still running from his optics. He laid a hand to his shoulder, grasping the metal to offer a comfort that felt far too inadequate. "I am so sorry, my friend." Sorry for more things than Prowl would ever know of. Jazz never deserved to die, not after every great deed he had ever done.

"Is he really gone?" Prowl whispered, voice hoarse.

"Ratchet confirmed it the orn it happened. Jazz's spark was extinguished."

"Are you sure?" He sought denial. He wished for some loophole that would allow Jazz to magically waltz back into the clearing and claim that it was all a sick joke. Logic dictated that Prime would not lie to him over such a matter, but this was one of the few times he did not want to listen to logic. All he wanted was Jazz.

Ratchet drew near, crouching by Prowl's side. "I'm sure, Prowl. There was nothing I could do when I got to him." He stroked a consoling hand over the back of the mech's head, scanning the many problems that had built up in Prowl's frame while he did so.

Prowl nodded into the snow, blinking away two thick gobs of congealed topaz energon. "Do you still have the frame?"

Optimus nodded. "We were waiting for you to arrive to decide what to do with it."

A strong tremor ran through Prowl's frame. "What to do with it…" he murmured, as if sickened by the idea.

"The decision is yours if you want to break the frame down for parts or use it to your own ends," Ratchet intoned. "Wheeljack and I repaired it to the best of our abilities."

"Just keep in mind that we're kinda desperate fer parts, y'know," Wheeljack said, only to jump away when Ratchet sent him an incendiary glare for his lack of tact.

Prowl forced himself up on his arms. "Please, take me to him. I want to see him." Optimus and Ratchet nodded, rising to their feet with the expectance that Prowl would want to rise on his own. Even if he wanted to, the reality of the matter was that the tactician could not summon any more strength than to prop his weight against his hands and knees.

Sunstreaker elbowed his twin, and Sideswipe nodded, knowing exactly what they were to do. They moved forward as one, gliding to Prowl's sides and grasping his shaking arms. Together, they lifted him, threading his arms over their shoulders and sliding their own arms around his back. Pride be damned, Prowl nodded his thanks, resting his weight against the sturdy presence of the twins. They, in turn, gripped him tight with the silent assurance that he was their burden to carry.

"You two certainly have changed," Ratchet said quietly, looking from one sibling to the other. Never in his wildest imaginations did he ever think Sunstreaker or Sideswipe would ever team up to help Prowl unless it was life-or-death against Decepticons.

Sideswipe's mouthplates tilted in a jaded smile. "Cut us some slack, Ratch'- we've been through the pit and back to get here." A gleam came into his optics as he registered the medic's dirt-smudged faceplate. "Nice dirt, by the way. It really brings out the sparklessness of your optics."

"I stand corrected," Ratchet growled flatly, narrowing his gaze on the red twin. "_You_ haven't changed a bit."

Sunstreaker snorted, staring up at Optimus with optics that were not as icy as the Prime remembered. "Lead the way?"

"This way. It's not far," Optimus murmured, turning to a trail nearly hidden by the boughs of evergreens. He paused as he passed his weapons specialist, still on the ground with Chromia clasped to him. "I take it you are staying here?" he asked, looking from one Autobot to the other.

Chromia sighed, shaking her head. "I don't need to see an empty shell to say my goodbyes."

Ironhide's arms locked even tighter around his mate. "I'm staying wherever she is, Prime."

Optimus nodded, his gaze sliding to Arcee, who stared back at him with an open look of '_please don't make me stay with them'_. She looked smaller in person, more alien. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit unnerved by looking at her. "I take it you want to come with us?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she confirmed adamantly, gathering herself to stand on wobbly legs. Despite her earlier reluctance to be seen, now that she was thrust under the optics of everyone, she seemed to accept that there was no fragging point in hiding the fact that she was diseased bag of bolts. While her stance wasn't exactly proud, her faceplate was determined.

Two warm arms scooped her up from behind, cradling her to a strong, yellow-armoured chest. "I'll carry you," Bumblebee offered, optics shining with a quiet fondness. "The path is a little tricky to navigate with all the underbrush."

Instead of looking flattered by the attention, Arcee looked affronted. Her hands came up to try and push out of Bumblebee's embrace. "I don't need someone to carry me around, Bee," she growled. "I'm not an invalid."

"I know you're not. I was only trying to be nice," Bumblebee countered, not loosening his grip.

"Let him carry you, Arcee," Prowl snapped weakly. "I want to go."

Startled by the command, the femme opened her mouthplates to object, and then quickly thought better. She settled into the minibot's arms with a tiny nod. She frowned when she felt Ratchet scanning her, knowing Wheeljack was probably sending the medic all the information he had on her condition, and if Perceptor had already landed, he no doubt had gone on at length about her.

"Through here, if you please." Optimus parted the boughs of the trees to allow his fellow Autobots through. He watched each bot pass by with a heavy spark, wishing the reunion could have been a happier one. Nothing ever quite worked out how he wanted it to anymore.

As soon as Wheeljack and Ratchet passed into the underbrush, Optimus gave one last nod to the two bots being left behind. His gesture was completely missed, as the pair were already deeply engaged in each other. Rolling his optics, he found himself partially cheered by the fact that least _some_ Autobots were about to enjoy a very happy reunion.

* * *

They came into the yard in a silent procession, optics dim, faceplates grim. The tremors from their many heavy footsteps were enough to wake the humans; a light flicked on from Will's bedroom, the window drawn up so he and Sarah could stick their heads out. Their presence was largely ignored, other than a brief nod Optimus spared them. It may have been dark, but the two aliens were not blind to the solemn atmosphere now hanging thick in their yard. They noted two brightly painted Autobots carrying a third between them, and a tiny grey one cradled in Bumblebee's arms. Seeing this, the humans decided that this was no time to be shouting introductions. Ducking back into their bedroom, the light clicked off and they went back to bed.

The group stopped short of the barn, its frail wooden doors foreboding in the dark of night. No one needed to say what lay beyond to know that Jazz's empty shell was there.

Arcee turned into Bumblebee's chest, her forehead against his armour. "I don't need to go in there," she said quietly.

Bumblebee canted his head, peering down at her with optics that were no less expressive than she remembered them. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, still hiding her faceplate against the scout's chassis. She didn't have the spark to look at Prowl at the moment. "I'm fine, Bee. I just don't think it's right that a crowd should be here while Prowl is-" -saying goodbye; breaking down; fritzing out; all of the above…- "with Jazz."

"You're right," Bumblebee sighed. "We should give him a little privacy." He peered about the barren yard, reluctant to let Arcee lay out in the cold all night. She may have still had the cold tolerance of a healthy Cybertronian, but she _looked_ like the wind could blow her away. "We'll stay in the other barn tonight. I'm sure the horses won't mind." They disengaged from the group, Bumblebee easily and silently crawling into the livestock barn with no greater a disturbance than irritated snorts from the disturbed residents inside.

The thud of the barn doors closing behind Bumblebee and Arcee spurred the other Autobots into moving. Prowl drew his arms away from the twins, stepping out of the support their frames offered. He drew himself up to his full, proud height, taller than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but shorter than everyone else. His faceplate hardened into a look reminiscent of his old self, though his optic betrayed him as a mech suffering the loss of his lover, his other half in everything except a sparkbond.

"Let me see him," he commanded, satisfied that his voice was steady. A false-calmness surrounded him, like the calm before a storm. The release he suffered in the clearing had only been enough to grant him a clear mind for what had to be done; he had to look upon Jazz's empty shell, touch his still faceplate and feel his cold sparkcase to know that he was gone.

Optimus nodded, gesturing for Ratchet to take up position on the other side of the doors to they could be opened together. In contrast to the sombre tension that took hold of them all, a great plume of blue-white lightning suddenly shot up into the sky from the general direction they had left Ironhide and Chromia- _nearly 6 miles away_.

Wheeljack leaned back, shading his optics with his hand as night briefly became day. "_Damn,_ if that isn't somethin' impressive," he commented, watching as light-blue ripples dispersed from the initial source. "They must be _real_ happy ta see each other, eh?" Ratchet rumbled darkly, reminding the engineer that now really wasn't the moment to be rubbing it in anyone's faceplate that two sparkmates got to be together again. Embarrassed, he ducked his head and backed away.

Prowl ignored the engineer, daring a step forward, and then another. He could have pushed the doors open on his own if he reached out, but he felt so numb he didn't think he could even lift his arms to try.

"I want to see him now. I'm ready."

As one, the doors gave way for him. The cloud cover was still strong over the Lennoxs' yard, so no light was available to flood into the vacant interior. It was so very, very dark inside.

Even without light, Prowl could see easily. By some preternatural knowing, his optics were drawn to the back of the barn. In slow succession, a figure took shape. Placed atop a berth of bundled straw was a frame that he could never mistake, even if he were blind. The frame was still. Quiet. Waiting for him.

"Oh Primus…" Prowl breathed unsteadily, easing forward on numb feet. He had to duck his head to pass through the doorway, and then slipped on a tangle of stray straw. He grabbed a wooden beam for balance, only to feel the entire structure lurch with his weight. Optimus and Ratchet wrenched the barn back before it could topple down around the tactician's feet. He stumbled the rest of the way to Jazz, only to end up crashing to his knees as he came within arm's length.

"_Jazz." _

No answer came. Not that he expected one.

Prowl intakes gasped in a drag of air, held it for a second, and then choked it out. _"Jazz."_

Still no answer. No answer would ever come. His visor did not light up, nor did his mouthplates turn up in his customary handsome smirk.

It was not the frame that Prowl missed, though he would not deny that the last configuration he lover had taken on was a handsome one. The frame was inconsequential compared to the spark that should have been residing inside. Shuffling closer on his knees, Prowl leaned up, digging his fingers into the seam along Jazz's chassis, dragging open his chest. He knew he would find nothing within, knew by the hauntingly empty void on his resonance scanners that the true essence of Jazz was no longer inside the frame, no longer on this plane of existence anymore. However, beyond logic and reasoning, Prowl needed to see that empty sparkcase to know. He needed that closure.

With a defiant crack, the metal finally split apart. There was no resistance from the sparkcase, falling open for him to reveal its mournfully void contents. A rasping sound came from his vents, like sobbing but not quite. He touched the empty interior, his own spark painfully churning in his chest. A slow burn worked its way out from his sparkcase, through to his limbs, until everything prickled unpleasantly. Prowl had only ever seen Jazz's spark a handful of times, yet the brilliance of that fluttering collection of energy remained etched into his memory banks.

"Why did it have to be you?" Prowl murmured thickly, forcing the frame's chassis closed when he could no longer bare the dark emptiness. "It could have been anyone else, but you? I _need_ you." He dragged his frame unto the makeshift berth, scooping one arm beneath Jazz's silver head and snaking his other arm around the torso, over the welding seam running jagged along the minibot's middle. He pressed his forehead to the side of Jazz's head. "You always had an answer for everything, so what am I supposed to do now? I have nothing left." Nothing except the metal shell he held in his arms, but nowhere within the frame were the answers or solace he sought.

Without shame, he began to cry in earnest. Not the nauseated gagging-sobs he'd suffered on the _Loki_, or the wild screaming he'd given into in the clearing. Now he simply cried.

He cried until Sunstreaker could take no more and left down the mountain with Sideswipe on his tail. He cried until grey light started filtering through the cracks in the roof. He cried until logic dictated that he had cried for long enough. Crying would not bring back the dead. Finally he died down to soft murmurs. Mentally, emotionally, physically exhausted, Prowl heaved a great sigh and let the weight of everything he'd been carrying for the last eon fall away.

"_I love you,"_ he whispered. _"Goodbye." _


	38. Loki Lands III

Damn, this one was a doozey to write. As in sneaking around between soul-sucking essays and staying up until ungodly hours in the morning to write a few words kind of doozey. =_= I don't feel up to writing a long AN right now, so I'm just going to go ahead and say a thousand thank yous to everyone who reviewed last chapter. The response was unbelievable! I'm both humbled and flattered by what I read, and I'm deeply grateful to each of you for taking the time to write out such kind, thoughtful, insightful, honest, and emotional reviews. All of you are too amazing; you're all my inspiration and reason to keep writing. *cosmic hugs*

***Special note, I encourage everyone to go read **FunkyFish1991**'s reviews for the last chapter, which can be conveniently (and strangely) found in chapter 1 and 2. She has demonstrated the most extraordinary comprehension of the last chapter, especially of the depth and life of Sunstreaker's character, and if anyone wants their eyes opened, I dare say you should go read what she's wrote! Not only is she a bloody brilliant artist, she's a freakin' amazing writer! :D

**Elita One**- Poor Prowl, indeed. ;_;

**CoalTreasure**- Thanks so much! :D

**Jason M. Lee**- Yeah, that was my favourite part of the chapter. Sunstreaker and Prowl's characters really intrigue me; it was a pleasure breaking down their walls in order to show that they're both mortal, and that they're practically strangers.

**A! (Litahatchee)-** Thanks a million for the puzzle-review, Lita! :D It makes me smile every time I look back on it now. ^_^

**Transformersfreak01**- That intense, huh? ^^;

**CuteKitten**- Wow, you loved and hated the chapter, huh? I guess that was bound to happen with so much going on. ^^; Sunny's transformation has only begun, so we're bound to see something different about him the future. As for Moonfly- she's actually been mentioned a few times in a few other chapters, even by name. But there will be more on her, I promise. :) As for Prowl… *sigh* It's going to be a long, hard road for him. :(

**C-Wolfeh**- Oh, goodness, you flatter me. Sunstreaker and Prowl's interaction was a great treat to write- they both have these 'mythologies' surrounding them, and yet neither know the mech that lives beneath. Having the chance to peel away that outer layer and show the spark beneath was what really made the writing. The emotions of he last section of the chapter were the hardest to write, since I drew on personal experience.

**Flameshield**- I guess the only thing that can be done for Prowl now is wish him the best and offer as much support as possible. Poor mech is _broken_.

**Thing With No Talent**- Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! I have to admit, Sunstreaker's character intrigues me like no other. He's… complicated, even if he himself just sees a monster when he looks at his reflection. I love slowly unraveling the mystery that is Sunny.

**FunkyFish1991**- …Holy crap. Seriously, holy crap. You are trying to put me in an early grave, aren't you? Or give me an aneurysm… or plotting to make me die of happiness. I bet it's the last option, isn't it? *suspicious stare* In any case, your _essay_ on the last chapter darn well knocked me right out of my socks. I was NOT expecting you to come back with those two extra reviews. That makes three reviews for one chapter from you… new record! XD But seriously, not only are you an artistic genius, you're a literary one, too! You're English teachers should be proud! If I could write a letter to them, I would! XD

**Independent C**- I'm pretty sure you're not alone in hating whoever killed off Jazz in the movie. But, if he never died, then this chapter could never exist, and then where the heck would the story be, right? It would be all happy-joy-love reunion, and we can't have that, now can we? XD I'm glad you like the Sunstreaker/Moonfly angle, though.^^ It was a twist I've had waiting in the wings for a while. Their backstory is going to be explored in a sidefic I have called '_Surface of the Sun_', but some of it will be explained in this story. Don't worry, I wouldn't leave my readers hanging. :)

**Chloo**- I think you really hit the nail on the head by pointing out that Prowl quite possibly took Jazz for granted. He simply expected Jazz to be there when he landed, which made the truth all the more painful. They had promised to bond before they left, and yet they're never going to be able to make good on that promise now. It was a really emotionally heavy chapter, and I'm pretty sure a good majority of my readers were affected by it. As for your question regarding interfacing/sparkbonding and your mentioned 'spark-merging'; there's only interfacing and sparkbonding in the WE verse. The opportunities Prowl probably had for seeing Jazz's spark were either when they were being very intimate with each other, exposing that very sacred part of themselves, or else they were hurt and it was exposed in the med bay during repairs.

**Angelgriever**- Thanks so much! You're too kind. :)

**Theshadowcat**- Yeah, that chapter was a lot to take in. Unfortunately, I'm not done with the emotionally heavy stuff yet…

**Kittisbat**- Sorry that the story isn't a happier one, hun. I guess I just don't do happy very well.. =_=;;; I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, despite the depressing content. I hope you find something to cheer your spirits with. :)

**Aura**- Goodness, I'm honoured that you would consider the last chapter worthy enough to review, considering that you don't make a habit of reviewing. Thank you so much. Conveying emotion is what I aim for when I write, so I'm glad I was able to affect you while you read.

**Freakish Child**- Well, well, it has been an eon and a half since I've seen you about. It's good to read your reviews again.^^ Chapter 37 was a really tough one to write, since I drew on a lot of personal experience in order to portray Prowl. That fact that I touched you to the depth that you cried is amazing, and I'm humbled that you would share that with me. Thank you so much for taking the time to write a review. It was a bright spot to my day. :)

**Lady Tecuma**- lol, if you enjoyed Ironhide and Chromia in the last chapter, then perhaps you're really going to enjoy this one. ;P

**Lecidre**- I think there were a lot of readers who were nervous for this chapter to come out. Prowl has turned into such a broken character in this story, so to finally see him break was really painful for a lot of people. Writing his emotional breakdown was really tough, too… *sigh* Now even I hate M. Bay for killing off Jazz. . If only the saboteur was alive! But Prowl does have Sunny and Sides to lean on now- the Twins seem to be smartening up quickly, though they're no less cheeky. ^^; Teehee, I was hoping to surprise a few readers with Sunstreaker finally admitting who the little green femme really is. When they finally run across each other, it's going to be interesting.

**Balrog Roike**- Nope, Jazz and Prowl had promised to bond when they reunited. As you can see, that promise didn't exactly work out… ^^; Haha, I expected a few writers to flip when the identity of the little green femme was finally revealed, although I think a few still haven't caught on. ^^; It's only a matter of time before Sunstreaker and Virus cross paths now…

**Bluebird Soaring**- Oh hun, I knew the last chapter was going to hit you hard! . You've always had such a soft spot for Jazz/Prowl, and then here I come posting Prowl finding out his lover is dead… *sigh* It was such a hard chapter to get through. Though, the scene between Sunny and Prowl, not to mention Chromia and Ironhide, did ease the tension a bit. I'm so glad you stuck with the chapter and took the time to write a review. You're too wonderful. *hugs*

**Tears of Twisted Angels**- Last chapter was a long time coming. It feels good to finally have it out there, even if it hurts like hell to see/write the truth of Prowl's pain.

Special credits to artists and friends alike who have inspired me, grown to be close friends, or otherwise are just plain awesome: **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte **and **FunkyFish1991**

**As We Come Together  
****In Which the Loki Lands III**

"I take it you are staying here?"

Chromia sighed, unable to glance at Prowl as his sagging frame was supported between the twins. Instead, the femme stayed focused on Optimus Prime's imposing figure, trying not to feel incredibly guilty in his austere presence. Being tangled in Ironhide's embrace, his spark a tangible presence beating against the heated metal of her chassis, made her even more acutely aware of how lonely Optimus looked without Elita One. He looked like only half of him was standing in front of her.

"I don't need to see an empty shell to say my goodbyes," she said with a slow shake of her head. Her spark clenched in her chassis when Prowl make a small noise, his legs going out from under him. Sideswipe was quick, turning so that the tactician's weight fell onto him instead of onto the ground. Chromia blinked her optics shut tight. All those vorns of helping him stay strong, going out to get energizer for him from her old junkion contacts, all for nothing…

Ironhide rumbled quietly, the vibrations soothing Chromia as warmth and comfort permeated into her spark through his astral and physical embrace. He tipped his head back to look up at Optimus, his optics smouldering like blue embers, impassioned with so many emotions that it was hard for the Prime to comprehend the exact depth of what he was seeing.

"I'm staying wherever she is, Prime," Ironhide rumbled. His thick arms tightened around Chromia, making it blatantly obvious that he was reluctant to let her go any time soon.

Optimus's gaze, though shadowed by the pain of old wounds ripped anew in the face of Prowl's mourning, softened. He nodded, wishing to grasp his friend's shoulder and say something kind, something that conveyed how truly, deeply happy he was that Chromia and Ironhide were together again, but aside from the fact that their happiness left a taint of bitterness in him, he was wary to reach out in fear of getting a shock. The charge in the air around the sparkmates was thick, alive, and volatile. Thankfully, nothing more needed to be exchanged between the old friends, for they knew each other well enough to say all they needed to say in a single glance.

A small noise to the left reminded Chromia of the small femme she still held at her mercy. Poor Arcee looked even more pitiful than usual, shrunken without her armour, trembling slightly, and staring up at Optimus with a cross between desperation and resignation; desperation not to witness her keeper get down to business with Ironhide, and resignation that there was nowhere else to hide anymore. Poor little thing- she was holding up so well.

"I take it you want to come with us?" Optimus asked kindly. He did well to mask the hesitation in his voice, but both Chromia and Arcee were experts in noticing the difference now. It was there, causing Arcee to sigh, though she was not deterred.

"Yes sir," she announced, tugging her hand away from Chromia's grip and sliding from Ironhide's encompassing embrace. She was determined to stand on her own; as weak as she looked, it was her inner-strength that forced her wavering frame to stay upright.

Chromia drew her now empty hand to her chassis, folding the digits loosely. Even as a spunky little thing fresh from the Youth Sectors, Arcee had been a spitfire with a will of steel. After vorns of watching her fall apart figuratively and literally, seeing her determined to stand on her own almost overcame Chromia with a sense of pride she knew she could feel no deeper. The little femme she had come to adopt as her own was finally looking to get a little bit of her old self back.

Ironhide's mouthplates curved into a discrete smirk, absorbing the excess of pride flooding into his spark, added by his own. He had never been one for judges by appearances; Arcee could have come to Earth looking worse than she did now and he would still see the little apprentice he had mentored so long ago. Arcee had been like him, not one to fall for appearances, but when it was her own to be effected, when her own strength was ripped away from her… He could only imagine what it was taking for her to stand before them as proudly as she was.

A soft swish of snow announced Bumblebee circling around behind Ironhide. Chromia sensed his movement and turned to track him, watching as the minibot moved with subtle, reverent grace. He glided his way to Arcee's side and took her into his arms without any hesitation. Shooting a glance to his optics, Chromia was amazed to see Bumblebee's gaze bright with affection rather than the uncertainty most bots hosted. His embrace was gentle, no doubt afraid to hurt her if he held too tight, but regardless of that detail, he held Arcee as there was nothing wrong with her. He hugged her like he was truly happy to have her back in his arms.

"He's got a good spark, that one," Ironhide murmured so no one else would hear. He sensed the amazement that fluttered in his sparkmate's spark; Bumblebee had been doing that to bots since he was first brought to Iacon- he amazed bots simply by being who he was.

"There was always something special about Bumblebee." Chromia leaned her head against Ironhide's shoulder, amazed and awed that she was able to do that at all after so long of wishing, waiting, _wanting_ to touch him, be near him. It was going to be a while before she got used to feeling so complete again. "If anyone will be able to get Arcee to break down some of her walls, it'll be him."

Arcee obviously was not of the same mind, her frame going rigid as her faceplate cast into a look of unadulterated insult.

"I'll carry you," Bumblebee offered warmly, failing to see Arcee's immediate change in expression while he held her back to his chest. He simply looked delighted to hold her again, no matter what her condition was. "The path is a little tricky to navigate with all the underbrush."

Arcee spun around as best she could in Bumblebee's embrace, trying vehemently to push away from the too-warm, too-comforting resonance of the minibot's spark. Maybe in another lifetime she would have loved to have been carried by him, but now was another story. She had something to prove now. "I don't need someone to carry me around, Bee. I'm not an invalid!"

Chromia flinched. Yes, she had done her fair share of carrying Arcee around…

Bumblebee was undeterred, refusing to loosen his arms. "I know you're not. I was only trying to be nice."

_Nice_ was certainly not something Arcee was looking for. She wanted respect! Instead, the night was wrought by Prowl's hoarse voice, quieting even her rampant ire.

"Let him carry you, Arcee. I want to go."

The young femme stiffened, optics shooting to the tactician. There was no way she was going to say anything to him, not now, not while he looked like _that_- barely standing, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker on either side, holding him up. Sunstreaker was watching Prowl, as if trying to gauge exactly how much more the mech could take, but Sideswipe was watching Arcee, his gaze dim and serious as he begged silently for her to heed Prowl's order. She bowed to the pressure, relinquishing her care into Bumblebee's trustworthy arms.

A few parting words from Optimus Prime and the small group of Autobots disappeared into the surrounding trees, on their way to where Jazz's remains laid. A small sliver of anxiousness passed through Chromia as Arcee moved out of sight, though all was soothed when Ironhide held her tighter.

"She'll be fine," he assured, knowing exactly what kind of unease was cooling his mate's spark. Their separation did nothing to fade his memories of her. Her overprotective tendencies were worse than even his.

Chromia sighed, letting the world slip away as she slid her head under Ironhide's chin. She turned her faceplate inward, taking a deep drag of cold air to savour the essence of her mate. "I know… I know she'll be fine." She rubbed the side of her faceplate to Ironhide's warm, black armour, her resonance scanner still following Arcee's spark as she traveled farther and farther away. "I feel foolish to admit this, 'Hide, but she's been mine for so long, it's hard sharing her."

"You shared her just fine when I took her into my apprenticeship," Ironhide intoned, one optic ridge raised.

Chromia rolled her optics. "She was still mine then, you just didn't know it." Her head shook from side to side minutely. "It's hard to imagine she might not need me anymore- there are bots here willing to help her, and a possible cure waiting on the horizon... I won't have to be her Caretaker anymore."

"Does that matter? Arcee's been with you ever since she got out of the Youth Sector- that's a bond that doesn't just disappear. She'll always need you, just in different ways," Ironhide soothed, rubbing his chin to the top of his mate's head. As he spoke, Arcee's spark resonance faded out of range, followed by everyone else's. Now they were as alone as they could get. The trees ruffled restlessly in the wind, the _Loki_ creaking on its rickety landing struts.

"Like you and Bumblebee?" Chromia teased, offering a smile that was hidden against Ironhide's frame. She shifted against him, sensing the sudden change in the cool night air. They were completely _alone_ now. She knew exactly what was coming, and the very thought of it had her internals heating, cooling fans beginning to purr. Oh, hot damn, a good, hot bonding was exactly what she needed.

"Yeah, like me and Bee," Ironhide sighed, smiling. "He's grown up so much, but he's still a youngling at spark." He curled a blunt finger under his femme's chin to tip her faceplate up, pressing his forehead to hers, blowing jets of warm air over her blessedly real frame. "You've grown soft while I've been away, haven't you?" he teased. "A doting Creator for little Arcee."

"For her, maybe," Chromia admitted quietly with a soft laugh. "I needed a soft side to deal with her; had to dredge up all my old Caretaker programming. I probably would have threatened to shoot her by now without it." A wonderful graveled laugh left Ironhide. It was the kind of laugh that made Chromia's spark skip a beat, her internals purring with a sudden flood of warmth. She had forgotten how much she missed his deep laugh, almost as much as she missed his spark.

"As I recall, you weren't that soft as a Caretaker anyways," he rumbled, his hands moving again, rubbing up and down her sides. The friction created all sorts of delicious heat inside and outside their frames. Blue static crackled with the movement.

"I was soft enough," Chromia growled playfully. Her orns as a Caretaker had been long ago, long before the Golden Age, and even before she had met Ironhide. They had only begun courting at the very tail end of her career in the Youth Sectors, when she had decided that being a Security Response enforcer was more her style.

Ironhide's touch, his warm, rough palms roving all over her, was making it hard to concentrate. She almost missed him speaking when he asked, "And what about now?"

She canted her head. "Now?"

Ironhide's mouthplates slid to her audios. "Yeah, _now_. Just _you_ and _me_." Oh, the delicious emphasis he put on all the right words. His hands tightened possessively, pressing her frame against his in the most flagrantly intimate way possible. "How soft are you going to be?" The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through her frame, the husky pitch leaving her audio dials tingling. The heat that had begun to simmer between them flamed higher, their energon starting to flow a little faster. Chromia's faceplate split into a hungry grin as she leaned back, framing her mate's faceplate in her hands and catching his gaze with a bright, feral look of her own.

"That all depends," she purred.

Ironhide's optics flashed. "On what?"

"On how soft _you've_ gotten without _me_." Two hands snaked under his chest plating, stroking sensitized neural wires aching to be touched. He was already so hot under his armour, burning. She grinned, teasing those needy wires with hungry touches. His head tipped back on its own as he was assaulted by pure, unadulterated sensation. From his mouthplates drifted a husky noise, deepened by a growing lust. It made her hotter inside, stroking to life feelings that had felt dead for too long. She felt passion rise, coming to life in her spark, flowing in her energon. Her frame undulated against her mate's broad front in a teasing mockery of the dance their sparks would be doing soon. "How soft have you gotten, Ironhide?"

"Trust me, Mia, I haven't gone soft," Ironhide growled, an unspoken dark promise lacing his words. For a moment, his hands spasmed, fingers curling around her tightly, touching places that had sensitized with rising lust. Her pleasured cry lit the night, her back arching.

"_Good,"_ she moaned, grinding her aching chest to his. Paint flaked between them, reddened sparks flickering from the hard friction. "That means we can take things _hard._" Primus, did she ever want it hard. She wanted it hard, wild, and fast.

An approving rumble reverberated through Ironhide's chassis. "Save the soft and lovey slag for the next round?"

"_Frag yes_," Chromia groaned, breathing the words intimately, in the same way she would have said them if Ironhide were grinding his spark to hers. "All I want is you. Right now. Your spark shoved in my sparkcase; I want to feel you inside and out, and I want to be screaming your designation when I overload." She was never one to mince words. By the dark, hungered look that came into Ironhide's optics, he still loved it when she talked dirty. The hands exploring under the armour of Ironhide's chest tightened, claws prickling to the point of almost pain. "You owe that much, Ironhide," she reminded him darkly, seductively.

"Owe you?" he growled, his vents heaving steaming air.

A deviously dangerous look crossed the femme's falcon-like faceplate, sharp optics glittering. "As I do recall, last time we got all hot and bothered together, we were in a firing range, and you left me hanging." Her optics flashed. "And then you left."

_For the Allspark._

Ironhide frowned, his optics shuttering momentarily. He remembered the last orn they had been together, spark to spark; they had taken over the firing range and had absolutely destroyed it together. They had both been so close to overloading when Red Alert had barged in with news that the _Ark_ had been attacked, Arcee infected. After that, it had been one thing after the other shoving Ironhide and Chromia apart until that last attack on Iacon; he'd had no choice but to take off without her. And they had been apart for _so long_. They had wanted each other so much. They had suffered for each other every orn.

"Primus, Chromia, I'm sorry," Ironhide rumbled, his voice coloured by agony rather than lust. Guilt as black and as thick as tar oozed through their bond, weighing heavily on Chromia as she absorbed the weight of all her mate felt. He was such a powerful being, like a storm, and his feelings for her were as potent as the cannons he wielded, but his guilt was also a terrible thing. She bowed under its weight, fingers curling tight under his armour.

"Don't be sorry, you half-bit," she hissed, wanting to smack him. "You _had_ to leave. You wouldn't have been my Ironhide if you had stayed behind." She pressed an attack through their bond, assaulting him with the wanton need that churned hotly beneath her surface. It was tainted with the shadow of vorns being left without her other half, desperate to be fulfilled, but there was no accusation in her embrace. She wasn't blaming him. She could never blame him for being true to himself; his spark would always belong to her, but his loyalty was to the Autobots, to Optimus Prime.

Ironhide shifted, his internals heating, his own lust enflamed by his sparkmate's desires. _"Primus, femme-."_

"You feel that, don't you?" Chromia cooed deliciously. "You can feel me inside you, _wanting you_? I've been waiting _forever_ for you to give me that damned overload you owe me. I want you so badly I can hardly see straight!"

She wasn't giving him much of an option to feel anything else but her. She was everywhere- wild, fierce. Her hands were everywhere, clawing at him with astral and real claws. She was the streamlined spitfire writhing in his lap, and she was the goddess overwhelming every sense in his mind. Every ounce of guilt he felt for leaving her, every trace of regret, Chromia sensed it, dove in, and ripped it away. Slashed it to pieces. Replaced it all with an outpouring of lust. Need. The hot, sensual, intense demand to be fulfilled. Completed. She wanted to be released. And she wanted Ironhide to release her. Damn his guilt, damn his hesitance, damn everything that was not his frame, his mind, his spark pleasuring her. She grabbed hold of him in every sense and dragged him in deep, stoked the fires, drove him mad with her need added to his own.

Ironhide groaned, arching, shaking. "You're killing me here." He was not one to take assaults, even sensual assaults, laying down, or in this case- _sitting down_. His hands locked around Chromia's upper arms, wrenching her claws out from beneath his armour. She fought, of course, and a trail of white sparks erupted where her claws dug in and dragged across the heavy metal.

"Let me go!" she snarled, bucking against him, revealing the fight in her that he had always loved. "Frag it, Ironhide, let me go or I'll-!"

"You'll what?" he challenged teasingly, jerking her whole frame away from his. It was agony to be separated, even if only by an arms' length. Blue tendrils of light laced the distance between them, keeping them tied together ephemerally. But the billowing ribbons of blue were not enough, not compared to the vibrating, living warmth that came from being pressed chest-to-chest, feeling the powerful rhythm of their sparks calling out to the other.

"I'll dislocate your arms!" Chromia howled, swinging her legs hard enough to leave dents along her sparkmate's flanks. Not that either of them cared. Ironhide merely grunted and grinned. To fight was to love for them. They were nothing without a little bit of violence thrown into the lust.

"We'll see about that."

Chromia only received an astrosecond worth of intention before she felt the air move, Ironhide standing, turning, and then her back was rammed into the thick trunk of an ancient tree. The wood caved, carving an embrace around her frame cradled by jagged splinters. The abuse set off a brief explosion, the pleasure derived from the wild abandon Ironhide had taken her with bursting outward in a crackle of blue lightning. The crack of her frame hitting the wood echoed like a gunshot through the cold mountains. And when their separation felt like it was enough to kill, Ironhide was on her again, moving against her, grinding her deeper into the tree trunk. Either pulled by his own raging need or the palpable tug Chromia was using on his spark, Ironhide did his best to meld himself to Chromia's frame.

His optics blazed like sapphires on fire as they gazed down at his most prized and pleasured treasure. "Look at you in that frame," he moaned, thick fingers working the crevices between her amour, seeking out every secret space to pleasure. "How long have you had it?" It was so sleek, so inherently dangerous that it was driving him wild. He wanted to touch everywhere, feel it, mark it, claim it.

At first, all Chromia could respond with was panting, her intakes heaving for cool air. Her cooling fans whirring loudly.

Rough, feral, Ironhide leaned in, burying his faceplate into the long, slender curve of Chromia's neck, ignoring how the broken shards of the tree trunk reached out and clawed at him. He drank in her closeness, her essence, and growled with pure satisfaction. "How long have you had the frame?" he asked again.

"A-a few vorns. I can't remember. Does it matter?" Chromia snarled, trying to jerk her frame out of its trap. No use- Ironhide had dug her in deep.

"It looks even better on you in person that it does over a view screen," he said. "You have no idea what kinds of things I want to do to you in this frame." It was as if the frame had been built for him to enjoy; femme models were his favourite of the four bipedal models- the way they were designed for the utmost precision gained his approval, and the way Chromia would strut around as a femme turned him on like nothing else. He loved the warrior design of it- streamlined, sharp, ready for the kill. He loved her dusky-blue paint, darker than what he remembered on her last frame. Her faceplate was amazing, her crests drawn over the top of her head to arc out behind, optics looking sharper than ever, mouthplates wide in a grin of ecstasy. He wanted to imprint himself on her new frame. He wanted to grind so deep into the metal that his paint would flake off and leave her more black than blue; he wanted his mark on her so everyone could see she was his, not just through their sparks, but every living part of her was _his_.

Chromia felt his possession, his demand to have all of her, and she reveled in it. Her back arched, straining against the wood that held her bound. "Glad you- like my frame," she groaned, twisting, panting, grinning. "Let me show you what it can do."

In that instant, the air charged. Not electricity aroused by their play, but an internal charger that came to life inside the femme, whining to a deafening pitch, and then lashing outward in a powerful electromagnetic pulse. It was enough to throw Ironhide away, forcing him to stumble back a few steps. Hating the separation, yet hating her entrapment more, Chromia wrenched her arms free, and then kicked loose her legs. Before Ironhide had his wits about him, he had his mate barreling into his chest, knocking him to the ground. They tumbled over several times, throwing clumps of dirt and grass out of their way. It was only when Ironhide hit the landing ramp that they stopping wrestling. The surprise of the sudden contact left the mech momentarily stunned, giving Chromia the chance to kick him onto his back and straddle his broad front.

He was half-wild now, semi-pinned by his mate and loving every moment of it. She rose above him like a dark beauty, claws extended, her sharp feet dug into his shoulders to prevent him from moving. He quirked an optic ridge at her, optics hazed by a lust that was spilling through their bond like a storm, looping between them, feeding them.

"Is that all your frame can do?" Ironhide goaded, grinning.

Chromia stretched, her silhouette haloed by the mismatched array-lighting still active along the sides of the _Loki_. She leaned in close, rubbing her faceplate to Ironhide's, only to pull back when he tried to press closer. Her mouthplates dipped to his audio receptor.

"I can do so much more," she murmured, just as another magnetic pulse burst from her. They both cried out, arching, laughing. The electric-blue light crackling between them snapped in the air, dancing, as if celebrating with them.

It felt _so good_ to be together like this.

Around them, the night had come alive. The cloud covered that had once covered their mountain hideaway had been mostly burned away by the _Loki_'s entry, and what remained was blown away by the winds. Now a blanket of silvery moonlight fell across the snowy mountainsides, fighting for dominance with the stark lighting offered by the alien ship. The stars seemed to shine brighter. The trees were moving, trembling, though there was no breeze to make them dance. Between their shivering boughs sparked blue static, building with every passing moment. The snow left on the ground steamed away, leaving an evanescent veil of water vapour hanging in the air. It had been a cold winter night when the even first began, but now the niche in the mountains had turned balmy, heated by the excess of passion flaming from the sparkmates.

There was so much energy thrumming through them. Building up. Charging the air. They couldn't contain it. They didn't want to contain it. All they wanted was to be complete, to stop the ache in their chests that had started the moment they had left each other so long ago.

Chromia faltered for all but a moment, staring down at her sparkmate and hardly believing this moment had come. For one terrible, awful moment, she feared all she felt was an illusion. The moment she opened her chassis, Ironhide would be gone, and she would be alone again in her shared quarters on the _Loki_.

That astrosecond of hesitation was all Ironhide needed to lever himself up, knowing exactly what his mate was thinking. He could feel it. Pit, he was so damn wrapped up in her, he could practically _see_ it all in her processor as she thought it. And damn if he wasn't a little scared of the same thing. But deep down, they both knew it was real. It had to be real. No dream, no matter how real through their sparkbond, could ever compare to what they were feeling now. No dream could make them so hot. So feral. So _alive_.

"This is real, Chromia," Ironhide growled, barely able to form the words through the force of the emotion behind them. "We're together, and I'm never leaving you again. I swear, I'll never leave you again."

"_Ironhide…"_ she breathed, seemingly stuck for words. Her arms trembled as they snaked around his neck, hugging him tightly, fiercely. Like she never wanted to let go.

Movement simultaneously erupted between them, plating shifted, moving, hissing. Seams appeared down the centers of their chests, blue light bursting forth with a brilliance that blinded the sparkmates.

Chromia looked down to watch as Ironhide's spark was unveiled, gasping a little as her own spark skipped a beat as she saw it. Not a thing had changed since the last time she had seen the inside of his sparkcase; it was the same strong, bold, immoveable essence she knew intrinsically as her mate. The want for that spark to become a part of her went deeper than just pure lust, mindless desire- she needed him like she needed her own spark. She loved him more than she could understand, and everything inside her screamed that this was the moment that was going to make the last eternity of suffering all right.

A welling of indescribable emotion choked Ironhide as he too looked down to watch as his sparkmate's chassis blossomed like the opening of an earth-flower. Her spark was so eager for release that it flashed bright, reaching for him, leaving an electric tingle running up and down his armour. Primus, he had never seen something so beautiful before. There was nothing else in the universe quite like seeing his mate's spark exposed and wild.

Nothing but air separated his spark from hers, and their sparks seemed to know it, straining on their own to reach for their other halves. The lightning around them doubled, running through their neural wires like a storm. Chromia's arms tensed around Ironhide's neck, while Ironhide's hands gripped Chromia's sides so that he left imprints of his fingers.

"This is it," Ironhide prompted, feeling the need to voice the painfully obvious.

"Let's make it count," Chromia whispered, her faceplate practically _glowing_ in the blaze of their exposed sparks.

As one, they moved forward, sealing their frames together. The reaction was instant; their sparks pulsed as separate beings for a split astrosecond, and then they thrust together as if magnetically drawn together. The crackling static that charged the air was suddenly sucked inward, making everything in the sparkmates' frames tingle, prickle, their optics growing overly bright.

And then the dam broke.

Their heads flew back with twin roars of elation as a power they had never felt before rushed through them, flooding them, surrounding them, and finally funneling outward, upward; their roars were matched by the great roar of blinding white-blue energy that released from their bonding. The night was consumed by a day-bright column of light stretching up forever, passed the trees, passed the mountains, into the endless sky, finally reaching its pinnacle amongst the stars and shattering into a rippling wave of diamonds and pure love.

No matter the extraordinary event unfolding around them, the two undulating Autobots had no optics but for each other. Their universe had become the point of contact where their sparks had become One. As the sound of energon rushed in their audios, cooling fans whining, the rattle of their frames as metal strained against metal desperately, they lost themselves in the perfect rapture that was each other. They teetered on the fine precipice between sheer joy and utter madness, and from the moment their optics locked, they tumbled over the edge and were lost. It was a maelstrom of their combined beings rising, tangling, clashing, and clawing. There was no barrier between Ironhide and Chromia, no fine line where one bot ended and the other began. They were fully immersed in their own shared world of perfection.

Time had slipped away from them in the way that it does for so many after a mind-blowing joining; though it moved forward, Ironhide and Chromia felt exempt from it, rolling on a high of ecstasy. They could have been joined for a mere astrosecond, or for the better part of eternity, and they would not have known the difference. It was only when every last ounce of energy had been wrung from them did their sparks finally untangle from each other, allowing their spent frames to gingerly peel away. With sated smiles and delicate touches, their sparkcases closed, followed closely by their open chassis sealing with gentle hisses.

Ironhide leaned back on his arms, his intakes heaving for cold air to cool down his overheated internals. Something sparked in his left side, which turned out to be a blown circuit board that hadn't been up to facing the intensity of their bonding. It was a minor distributor, so he cut power to it. A slight tremor ran through his front, coming from the languid frame now draped across him. Ripples of residual pleasure filtered from her spark to his, and she purred when his spark responded in kind. A lazy loop of post-overload contentedness.

Ironhide opened his mouthplates to say something, only to be stopped by a blue hand rising to gently lay over the interlocking plates.

"Shhhhhh," Chromia murmured, rubbing the side of her faceplate above Ironhide's spark. "Don't say anything just yet."

"I just wanted to say how glad I am to have you back."

"I know. I'm glad, too. I just want to lay here for a little bit, though."

Nodding, Ironhide eased down until he rested completely on the incline of the _Loki_'s ramp, Chromia securely wrapped in his embrace. Of all pleasures he had experienced with her, he had never felt anything quite like _that_. And he was quite sure they would never be able to have a repeat performance. A one-time deal. It had been a bonding that brought them closer to perfection than they had ever been before. There had been a moment when Ironhide could have sworn he saw the Matrix. But that was not all he saw.

He'd seen what Chromia's life had become; the Autobots fighting a war that no longer had a purpose, only destruction. Through her spark, through her optics, he'd seen hardships that no words could describe; agony too vivid for words. Most painful of all, he'd seen the moments when she had lost hope; he relived through her every tortured moment of their separation, every pain that came from thinking she would never seen him again. The hand over his mouthplates did not slip away, remaining poised there only to stroke the interlocking plates absently. She knew he had seen inside her spark, just as she had seen his, but she wasn't prepared to talk about it, not just yet.

A cloud passed overhead, casting their hideaway in shadow. A cold breeze drifted through, sweeping away the lingering energy of their wild joining. Chromia shivered, though not from the cold. Her arms tightened around Ironhide's broad front, and in return his arms tightened around her. It gave her the strength to speak, though she was not quite ready to bring up some subjects. Instead, she focused on the most neutral thing she could think of.

"Everything's so green," she murmured.

Ironhide cocked an optic ridge curiously, waiting for elaboration.

Chromia gestured vaguely to their surroundings, propping herself up on Ironhide's front with one arm. "The ground was brown and white when we landed. Now it's green."

Tipping his head to the side, Ironhide was left to take in the disappearance of the winter-dead grass and hibernating trees, replaced with fresh growth as green as the first breath of spring. Intrigued by the phenomena, Ironhide reached out over the side of the ramp to brush the thick carpet of dewy grass spread out beneath him.

"Did we do this?" he wondered, his deep voice graveled.

"You've been here longer than I have," Chromia shrugged, wriggling off her mate and moving to stand in order to get a better look at the transformation that had taken place around her. "I was going to ask you if this was normal for this planet."

"Something tells me no," Ironhide replied ruefully. He sat up, looking from his mate to the organic nature blossoming around them. "It could be a reaction to all the energy we were putting out." He reached out, touched her, and came away with a soft jolt of blue lightning. "There was _a lot_ of energy."

"Amazing," the femme murmured, having only half-listened to Ironhide. She bent to pluck a bundle of blue flowers between two pinched claws, intrigued by the design of such a delicate little life form. "What are these?" she asked, holding up the bloom.

"Bluebells," Ironhide replied after a moment of searching for the right name. "A type of flower."

The femme smiled, tucking the tiny blooms between two of Ironhide's crests. She tucked another stem of bluebells on the other side to even things out, and then laughed quietly as Ironhide crossed his optics to glare upwards at the new additions to his person.

"Are those really necessary?" he asked, frowning.

"We make beautiful bluebells together," Chromia laughed lightly, trailing on long finger down from the flowers to trace over Ironhide's handsome faceplate. He caught her thin wrist and brought her warm palm to his mouthplates, rubbing her clawed fingers to the sensitive interlocking plates.

"That's not the only beautiful thing we make," he rumbled. By his tone alone, it was obvious he was referring to only one thing.

Chromia rolled her optics. "How can anyone with such big guns be such a romantic?"

"It could be the little bit of you in me," he teased.

She tugged her hand away to lightly punch him on the shoulder. "I've never been a romantic."

Ironhide grunted, moving to stand so he wasn't such a sitting target. "No, but you want _me_ to be a romantic. I would become anything you wanted me to just to make you happy," he rumbled, pleased by the surge of loving affection he was tickled with through their connection. Primus, he was never going to get tired of the feeling of reaching out and have Chromia reach back. He swept her up as if she were made of air, let her legs wrap around his torso, her arms around his neck. "We haven't been apart long enough for me to forget what you like." He nudged her with his forehead, blowing a gentle jet of warm air across her. "What you _need_."

Chromia settled against Ironhide heavily, letting him support her full weight. The light probing touch to her spark told her that Ironhide knew exactly what she needed now. With both their sparks deliciously sated of lust for now, it was time to deal with what Ironhide saw through their bond. She needed to get the tension off her chest before it snapped her. Maybe not the details- not the screaming, pleading faceplates and dying sparks, fields of dead frames and endless vorns spent hopeless and tortured- but she had to say _something_.

Thankfully, Chromia needn't say a word for Ironhide to know she was ready to talk. He understood her easily enough without any words at all. Wandering up the ramp into the _Loki_'s hangar, he took a seat on a crate and settled so that his femme would be comfortable. Chromia opened her mouthplates a couple times to begin, and then closed them just as quick. Every time she came close to getting some words out, a shadowed look would cross her optics and she would retreat back into herself.

"Is it really as bad as what I saw?" Ironhide asked solemnly, prompting her. He wasn't going to let her get lost inside her own head.

Chromia tensed, processing the question. "It's worse," she murmured after a fashion, shuttering her optics. Her frame shuddered. It was worse for those who had lived through it all, suffered at the very spark of the tempest. "Primus, Ironhide, it's so much _worse_."

"Mirage keeps saying that." Ironhide's arms tightened protectively around her frame as if he could protect her from her own memories. The horror he heard in her words, the desolation he felt through their bond…

Chromia bowed her head. "Did he show you?"

Ironhide gave a bare shake of his head, frowning. "No, he refused to interface with any of us. He wouldn't even transfer the memories to Prime." He paused, optics dimming. "I saw through you, though. Now I know why he refused." Not clear images, but brief flashes, vague impressions. He'd seen battle before, seen carnage, but never to the degree he'd seen Autobots and Decepticons locked in.

"If I could have stopped you from seeing, I would have. After you left- after the _Ark_ launched, it was like something snapped in all of us. Battles just kept getting more and more vicious…it wasn't just the Decepticons who became animals. We don't take prisoners anymore- we just kill. That's all we're doing now," she said lowly, hoarsely. Ashamed. "Every orn, more of us die."

Ironhide bowed his head. "Flamewar, when we had her… she said there was only a couple thousand of us left."

A soft hiss drifted from Chromia as she recognized the Decepticon's designation. "She was right. There's so few of us left now… We're on the brink of extinction." She peered up into Ironhide's stark faceplate, torn by what she saw. Such pain she was causing. What she wouldn't give to take it all away. But she had seen into his spark, as well. Seen the moment the Allspark had been destroyed. "And now there's nothing left to help us, is there?"

Ironhide shuttered his optics, seeing Sam Witwicky's wild-eyed alien face fresh from murdering Megatron. He could envision with perfect clarity the look of Megatron's energon spattered across the street, Sam's hands blistered and stained red. Such a tiny little alien. The boy had saved them, yet no less doomed them. "It had to be done, Chromia."

"I know… It just makes everything so much harder." She shuddered again, her hands curling under Ironhide's armour. She couldn't let go of him. "I watched so many of our Autobots die, and I killed so many others… _so many_. Now Jazz is gone, and Prowl is- you saw him. Jazz was everything holding him together. If we lose anymore…"

"_We won't,"_ Ironhide asserted protectively.

Chromia smiled humourlessly at Ironhide's automatic response. "Arcee," she whispered. "I don't know what I'll do if I lose her."

This time, Ironhide said nothing. He held his mate tighter.

She sighed, letting herself be held. She needed to be held. "The viral specialist coming in… Is there a chance she can help Arcee?"

It was Ironhide's turn to tense, though he held back the growl that wanted to rumble out his vocal processor. The viral specialist. _Virus._

Chromia's sensed the tension and her frame tightened in response. "I'm not a fool, Ironhide. I know there's something about this bot that I won't like. Pit, it's probably a Decepticon, right?" she asked bitterly. Ironhide gave a curt nod. "Ha, figured as much. At this point, I don't care what it takes. If there's a chance for Arcee to be okay, I'll take it. I don't want to lose anyone else." She touched his faceplate, turned it down to hers so that they could press their foreheads together. "Tell me there's a chance Arcee can be cured, Ironhide. Just tell me there's a chance."

"There's a chance," he sighed, sagging heavily. It was the price they were going to have to pay for that chance he was worried about.

"Thank you," Chromia murmured, hugging her sparkmate tightly.

* * *

Bumblebee heaved a heavy, drawn out sigh, and Arcee ignored it. Just like she had been ignoring all his humming, chirping, beeping, and sighing for the last joor. And she was determined to keep on ignoring him for as long as it took for him to get a clue and _stop_.

She pretended that she wasn't eagerly drinking in every detail of his alt mode as it sat beyond the stray-filled box-stall she sat in. Being in the stall had been her idea, because it had offered the perfect place of respite where she could hide from view if she wanted to, and the opening into the stall was too narrow for Bumblebee to fit in, even if he were to transform and try. The straw was annoying, but thankfully clean. Their fellow company, quadrupeds Bumblebee had called horses, had become so accustomed to the aliens now sitting in their barn that they no longer whinnied at them or stared. Now it was only Arcee who stared, and she did so hungrily for every line, every contour, every angle of Bumblebee.

He looked good, she had to admit. His new alt mode suited him well. It was handsome, compact, sleek, and had an aura of power about it. Everything about him looked too good to be true.

Bumblebee heaved a sigh again, begging for attention, but Arcee was not to give in. She frowned, rolled her optics, and dared to look away to the thin cracks between the wood slates in the barn's walls. The darkness between them was lightening, meaning dawn was approaching. She could no longer see the wild lightning of spark-energy arcing through the sky, coming through the cracks like flashes of fireworks, so Arcee could only assume Chromia and Ironhide had either finally passed out, or they'd taken their business inside the _Loki_.

The femme gave a wry shake of her head. If there was anyone on the planet who deserved to have herself thoroughly worked over, it was Chromia. She had been a tireless, if not entirely overbearing, support system, caretaker, and friend for Arcee. Sure, the femme wasn't perfect- she was damn stubborn, didn't take slag, occasionally brought home energon-spattered heads, and it was rather hard to forget the time the femme had attempted to _sparkbond_ with her in some psychotic break she called a 'dream'- but nobody was perfect. Chromia deserved all the happiness she could find with Ironhide.

Arcee dropped her gaze, shoulders sagging. Chromia deserved everything she got being reunited with Ironhide. Even if no one else was getting their happily-ever-after, at least one deserving femme was. It wasn't enough for Arcee, but it eased the bitterness somewhat.

She held up a hand, observing it in the deep gloom. Not liking what she saw, her limb fell back to the straw. Now it was her turn to sigh. Her equine neighbor, a spotty grey thing called Jack Frost, stuck his large, longl head out over the wall of his enclosure and peered into hers. The big blue eye that stared at her was as blue as a Cybertronian optic.

"What are you looking at?" she huffed.

The horse's ears flattened against its head, not liking the sound of Arcee's electronic speech. With a snort, the curious grey head quickly withdrew back into its own stall.

Silence was once again restored to the microcosm of the barn. A dead silence.

Arcee cringed. _Dead_ was the wrong kind of descriptor to use at the moment. It was wrong on so many levels when she could still hear Prowl as he mourned the loss of Jazz's spark. Prowl had always been decent to her; a little cold, but he'd always been that way with everyone. He served as a good substitute keeper when Chromia was away on missions. The sound of his muffled sobs carried on the wind haunted her. They didn't sound like they belonged to Prowl at all.

Bumblebee shifted on his wheels, possibly wanting to roll out of the barn, transform, and stretch. He didn't leave her, though. He stayed where he was like the good little scout he was. The breaking of dawn cast a dappling of grey light over his hood and roof, making his vibrant yellow paint shimmer. He was absolutely _gorgeous._ He looked so good it actually hurt her to stare at him for too long.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Bumblebee suddenly asked, unable to take their silence any longer.

"There's nothing to say," she replied curtly, hoping to cut off a conversation before it began.

The minibot was obviously going to have none of that. His engine growled lightly, causing a few horses to stir restlessly. They didn't like the idea of a Camaro invading their barn.

"There's plenty to talk about," he prompted, sounding ridiculously like the mech Arcee remembered all too well. He sounded sweet and eager and innocent, everything that he shouldn't be. Not after so long. He should be changed- hardened, bitter. It would make crushing the feeling of wanting him easier.

"No, there isn't," Arcee insisted.

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't."

"Yes, there is."

Arcee narrowed her optics. "No. There Isn't."

Bumblebee chuckled playfully. "Oh yes, there is," he sang. "There's plenty to talk about, you just don't want to-."

"Bumblebee, just stop it!" she barked. "Give it up already, will you?"

Startled, the scout ended up involuntarily honking his horn, which only managed to disturb their equine neighbours more. Someone kicked their door to demand silence.

"Give what up?" he asked quizzically.

Arcee brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her ragtag arms around her legs tightly. "I don't know what you're playing at, Bee, but stop it, okay? You might think you're being nice, but I've had enough bots faking nice long enough to me that it just makes me sick."

"Who says I'm faking?" Bumblebee asked mutedly.

"What else could you be doing?"

"I could be being honest," he pointed out, as if it were the most obvious answer on the planet. "I'm honestly glad to see you. I'm happy you're on Earth now. You have no idea how slagging happy I am to see you!" Arcee was still Arcee, no matter the frame or condition.

Those answers did nothing to sooth Arcee. "Why?" she asked, frowning.

"Because I missed you. Because you're my friend. Because we made an awesome team back on Cybertron. There's a thousand different reasons for me to be happy that you're here." He wished he could transform so he could look at her, pick her up, hug her, but the isle of the barn wasn't wide enough to attempt stunts like that. He kept his sensors locked on her, gathering the most accurate image he could of her posture, hoping to track her emotions. She tensed, looking away from him. A twinge of hurt spiked his spark. "I don't understand why you won't talk to me, or even look at me. You used to love it when I carried you around on Cybertron, and now you act like you can't stand me touching you."

"That's because I can't!" she snarled, only to regret her harshness instantly. She sensed Bumblebee's surprise, saw his faint recoil. The sight of him cringing away broke her spark, but it was an inevitable fact. Everyone backed away eventually.

To her surprise, Bumblebee didn't back away, not really. No, she might have surprised him with her shout, but as soon as he had his wits about him, he inched closer. With some clever scooting, he managed to bring his side flush against the stall, trying to get as close to her as he could while inadvertently blocking her in at the same time. "You don't really mean that, do you?"

The words wavered on her vocal processor, but she couldn't bring herself to spit bitter lies. She sagged and answered, "No."

Bumblebee sagged, though in relief. "Good, because I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't touch you," he said earnestly. "…that came out stranger than I meant." Arcee giggled in spite of herself. "What I meant to say was, well- I really have missed you, Arcee. I've missed you so much- everything about you. Your voice, your optics, your friendship, your spark-. If you hated me…" Bumblebee shuddered. He couldn't even imagine the horror. "I don't know what I'd do if you hated. I wouldn't even know what I did to make you think that way."

His honesty was so refreshing. Everything about him was- like standing under the crisp spray of acid in the wash racks and letting centuries worth of dirt wash away.

"You wouldn't have had to to anything to make me hate you," Arcee admitted reluctantly.

"Then why are you acting like that?"

"I just don't want you to hurt me, Bee," she said lowly.

"I would never-!"

"I know you wouldn't do it intentionally, but everyone who has meant well in the past just fakes it. They smile nice, try to talk with me like I'm normal, but as soon as they leave the room, they want to go to the wash racks in case whatever I have washed off on them. I'm used to it by now, and it just means that I keep everyone else away. I won't give anyone the chance to hurt me now."

Bumblebee sank on his wheels. "Not everyone can be like that, can they?"

She made a rude noise. "You haven't by any chance gotten a good look at me lately, have you? Bots aren't exactly lining up to interface with me anymore, you know. And even if someone were stupid enough to try, the fragging virus would just fry them anyways."

"I don't care what you look like, Arcee. And I don't care if you can't interface. That's not important," Bumblebee intoned firmly, his engine turning over with a rumbling purr. "I'm not that shallow."

She pushed to her feet, shuffling straw out of her way as she prowled over to Bumblebee's smooth, golden side. She poked him with a naked, grey finger. "No, you're not shallow, but the way I am… I'm _falling apart_, Bee. My limbs literally _rot_ right off my frame. I put even the most tolerant mechs to the limit. How is it that you don't even blink an optic at me?"

She didn't get an answer right away. In fact, the scout looked a little embarrassed to reply. He shifted on his wheels, lowering to the ground subtly.

"Bumblebee?" the femme pressed.

He made a flustered noise. "It's just that… Reason I don't care is…"

For some reason, his stuttering made her spark flutter a little. A good fluttering, which was something she hadn't felt in a while. "Go on," she encouraged, optics brightening just a fraction. She flattened a cool palm to his smooth roof, leaning into him.

"See, the thing is, Arcee…" Bumblebee paused once more, taking a deep drag of air in through his vents, and then sent it rushing out so fast that it sent stray hay and straw whirling into the air.

The doors at the far end of the barn swung open hard, pouring cold morning light into the dim isle and blinding the residents of the barn. A broad frame was silhouetted in the doorframe, two crystalline fins glinting brightly in the grey sunlight from either side of his head. As details sharpened, Wheeljack's friendly faceplate was revealed. He glanced from Bumblebee's alt mode snuggled to the wall to Arcee trapped on his other side. He cocked his head, his fins flashing.

"I ain't interupting nothin', am I?" he asked.

Arcee jerked away from Bumblebee, drawing her arms to her chassis tightly. "No, nothing," she informed sourly.

"Um… okay," the engineer shrugged.

"What do you want, Wheeljack?" Bumblebee asked, his tone a little flat.

"Oh, see, I just wanted ta pop in and give ya a proper warnin' that Megatron's frame is being flown in sometime today," the mech informed, unaffected by Bumblebee's less-than-stellar tone. "Ratch' an I are going to do our best to fix the little fragger up, but, you know, this is just a courtesy thing so no one fritzes when they see ol' Meggy droppin' in."

"I thought the US government didn't want to attempt transporting the frame for another few orns," Bumblebee intoned curiously.

Wheeljack flapped a hand. "Apparently they got a tip that there's been some extra activity out that way, and since the coast the Laurentian Abyss is closest to is currently hosting some _Neutral-my-aft_ Decepticons, no one wanted to take any chances."

If Bumblebee had been in bipedal mode, he would have nodded. Instead, he bobbed on his shocks. "Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose."

Wheeljack grinned. "Exactly, dearspark!" He hopped up and wandered away to help Ratchet determine the best place for Megatron's remains to be set down. Will had made it clear that he did _not_ want the rotting metal corpse of an evil, planet-destroying warlord sitting on his lawn.

With Wheeljack gone, Bumblebee turned his attentions back to Arcee, only to find a look of utmost suspicion clouding her faceplate.

"What do we need with Megatron's frame?" she asked. The hard shell Bumblebee had only just managed to crack was back full-strength. There was no way he was getting through to her this time. If he tried to confess his affections for her now, it would probably roll off her like the breeze. Talk about a moment ruined.

"The specialist we've called to help you…" he began uneasily. "She's not helping you for free."

Arcee's optics flashed. "The frame is payment?"

"It was the only thing she would settle for," the scout sighed. He paid extra attention to the femme now, to the new tension that thrummed through her. Did she know? Had she somehow guessed the terrible pact they had made with her original attacker?

"I… I see." She turned her back to him, shuffling back to her pile of straw to sit in it. She pressed her shoulder to the far wall, as far away from Bumblebee as she could be. Something about the situation felt _wrong_. There was a vital detail she was skipping around but couldn't pin down. Who, of all the bots in the universe, would ever want an empty frame that had been left to rot at the bottom of an ocean? Who would be crazy enough? "Is there something you're not telling me, Bumblebee?"

It was now that the scout did back away. Slowly, shamefully, he inched backwards, and each inch hurt them both. But what was he to say? That they had sunk as low as any living being could go? That Virus, the twisted slagheap that she was, was the one who had originally pinned Arcee down and stabbed her through with viral injectors. The Decepticon largely responsible for ruining Arcee's life. Bumblebee didn't have the spark to see the hatred and horror bound to erupt across the femme's faceplate the moment she learned the truth.

"I'm sorry, Arcee," he sighed. "There are some things that- well… It's best you don't know for now…" With a low rev of his engine, he slid away from sight, unable to face her anymore.


	39. Loki Lands IV

"_Underlying all human endeavour is the quest for greater happiness."- _A quote from a song I was listening to this morning by Oka. The song is called _Dharma_ and is amazing to listen to for relaxing and feeling at one with the universe. The quote makes me happy. :)

Actually, to be perfectly honest, this whole chapter makes me happy. I hope it makes you happy, too. ^^ And, if it does, just spread the happiness, will you? Hug someone. :)

**Jason M. Lee**- Ah, there's always a price to pay. Nothing in life is for free.

**CuteKitten**- *whew* Writing the Chromia/Ironhide scene was really intense to write, so thank god someone found it intense to read. There'll be more of them in the future, of course. Think you can handle it? ;P As for the Virus/Arcee issue… they'll handle it when the time comes, methinks…

**Flameshield**- It's all that excess-positive energy, you know? Us humans make beautiful things through our acts of physical indulgence, so I figured why can't TFs make beautiful things? XD

**C-Wolfeh****- **Arcee, sadly, still has a lot of issues to work through. Bumblebee will be there for her through thick and thin, though. He's a good bot like that.^^ Teehee, glad you liked the hotness that was Hide & Mia. They were damn near hot enough to melt the keys right off my keyboard. :P

**FunkyFish1991**- Haha, I knew you couldn't keep up the roll you started with that essay-review for chapter 37. I'm still reeling from it, actually. But, all the same, this review is still so very amazing~ You managed to touch on everything and make the chapter seem so much more compelling than it actually was. :P As for my sense of timing, how's this for a sense of timing? I'm updating right now! XD

**Bluebird Soaring**- *happy sigh* I'm glad you enjoyed the in-depth Hide/Mia reunion bit, my friend. It was sadly not a very popular chapter, but just having a handful of people enjoy it is worth the effort. :)

**KyuubiSango**- Thanks so much, hun. I try my best to expand the emotional ranges of the characters I write for, and it's an ultimate compliment to hear that I have influenced the emotions of a reader.^^

**Kittisbat- **Haha, happiness and sadness seem to be a specialty of mine. ^^; But, you've actually touched on a very great topic that I'm sure many others have forgotten about by not- Starscream. There will be more of him in the future; he has his purpose later on. *evil grin*

**Theshadowcat**- Awwww, Jack's wonderful timing is all part of his charm! XD As for Arcee… we'll just have to hope she doesn't go nuclear when she finds out. ^^;

**Independent C**- *shakes head* I won't confirm anything here. If you haven't come to your own conclusions yet, simply let the story play out and find out that way. It's a lot more fun that way, isn't it? :) Oh wow, I'm flattered by such high praise of my Hide/Mia characterization. They're both such fun to write for~ I'm glad you enjoy them. :)

**Hopelessromantic721**- Breaking out the little bit of Bumblebee/Arcee love was a treat. I'm glad you enjoyed it- there'll be more in the future, no doubt. :)

**Queen of the Red Skittles- **Goodness, thank you so much for such a flattering review. I'm humbled that you chose to delve into this little story of mine, and that you've found such an emotional connection to the writing. I do hope that you continue to enjoy the story (or stories… ^^; ) as it progresses. There will be so much more on Prowl, Virus, Sunstreaker, and everyone else. ^^

**Lady Tecuma- **Hide and Mia are just so hot on their own, I barely have to write them and they come to life on the page. I knew you'd get a kick out of their hot little scene at the beginning of the chapter. Now if only I could write more of them. XD

**Chloo- **Their overload wasn't a moment too soon, eh? Well, considering that they've been waiting for eons, and us starved writers/readers have been waiting the better part of a year or two, their overload is exactly what the doctor ordered. XD Bumblebee as cuddle-tastic and a robot Adonis? I don't think I've ever quite heard that comparison before. It makes me giggle and smile at the same time. :P

**Lecidre**- Wheeljack just had to ruin the moment, though! It was too good not to ruin! And besides, if he hadn't of jumped in when he did, Bumblebee would have confessed, and then what kind of craziness would that have gotten up to? *laughs* You can be sure that there will be more between Arcee and Bumblebee in the future.^^ Ironhide and Mia had a lot of pent-up love/lust that got released when they bonded. I think all that positive energy might have been the saving grace for all the plants. ;P

This chapter is specially decated to** Bunnylass's mother, **who told** Bunnylass **to get her butt in gear and catch up on her reviews. I will be forever grateful! :D Oh, and this chapter also goes to** Bunnylass **herself, for the mind-blowing reviews she left for chapter 34 and 35. They are some of the most amazing reviews I have ever read! :D

Special thanksto** FunkyFish1991 **for being the greatest idea-bouncing-fishy-friend there ever was. :D She helped me organize my thoughts for the final scene of the chapter, and even if I chose to go in a slightly different direction and organization than we talked about, I hope she still like it. :)

Special credits to artists and friends alike who have inspired me, grown to be close friends, or otherwise are just plain awesome: **Violetlight, Litahatchee, Lecidre**, **SylentNyte, Bunnylass **and **FunkyFish1991!**

**As We Come Together  
In Which the Loki Lands IV**

Wheeljack sauntered away from the barn content in the knowledge that he had done at least one good deed for the orn by giving the younger ones a heads up as to who was dropping in soon. With a determined air, he avoided the darkened barn Prowl had yet to emerge from. Optimus stood as a sentry by the entrance, and by his side stood Ratchet, both faithfully on-hand should Prowl call for them for any given reason. Wheeljack spared only a periphery glance of them, noting that Ratchet was pensively studying the ground while Optimus's optics were turned to the sky. Odd, but it seemed as if Optimus was looking to the sky an awful lot ever since he claimed to have had contact with Elita One the day prior. It was almost as if he were being drawn to the sky, as if something was there that none of them could see.

Looking away, Wheeljack shook his head. He wasn't going to think of invisible things lurking the sky, not after he'd been working so hard to get back to a state of mind that his colleagues were going to respect. Earth was his second chance to remind people that he wasn't just a nutcase blowing slag up in his labs- he'd once been a renown engineer, and he was damned if he wasn't going to earn back that title! And even while he told himself that, a smaller part of himself hissed that the real reason he didn't want to think of invisible things in the sky was because he knew there were things out there that they couldn't always see. Like the thing he'd encountered in the Beta Zen region, the thing that had nearly drawn him into that dark, cold, black hole…

Oh, no, no, no, he wasn't going to fall into that trap again. No falling into nutty thoughts. No retreating into his head. He was a rational, smart, almost-healthy Autobot, and he was going to stay that way. Well, he wanted to be a completely healthy Autobot, but doable goals were easier to accomplish. Which meant no thinking of impossibly scary things out in space, no thinking of what Optimus Prime could possibly be staring at, and most definitely he was not going to think of what Prowl was going through as he mourned over the loss of Jazz's spark. Wheeljack had already done his mourning, and he was not going to be dragged back into the Bad Place again.

With that being said, he was going to think happy thoughts, like messing around with the insides of Megatron's cold and empty frame. Maybe steal a part or two in order to help build his space bridge…

A warning on his proximal sensors had him looking down as Will peered out the backdoor. Apparently he had been waiting for any bot to approach so he could stick his head out. Curiously, Sarah was right behind him, craning over her mate's back in order to get a good look at what was going on.

"Is everything all right out there, Wheeljack?" the human enquired, eyes darting from Optimus to Ratchet, and then to the general area as she tried to take stock of who was there and who was not.

Crouching for them, Wheeljack offered a muted smile. "Oh, everything is as fine as you'd expect," he mediated. "We weren't expecting no miracle with our tactician. I'd say the news hit pretty damn hard."

"Is he going to be okay?" Will asked.

Wheeljack could tell by the human's expression and brief falter on the pronoun 'he' that Will was just as uncomfortable now with assigning gendered pronouns to the transformers as the transformers themselves were. It was kind of spark-warming to see that the human was making an effort for them. "It's hard to say if he'll be okay. They were real close," Wheeljack said with a slight tilt of his head. "Jazz was his lover, after all. Oddest couple ya ever would'a seen in the galaxy, but damn if they didn't balance each other out." He paused a moment to consider something and then said, "They probably would have bonded if Jazz had lived."

"The poor dear," Sarah intoned, her hand covering her mouth. "I can't imagine what he's going through now, losing someone so close to you..." She sighed, glancing discreetly in Will's direction. There had been that brief time when she had thought him dead after that attack on the airbase, which she now knew had been a 'Decepticon' attack, but listening to that one alien crying last night… her troubles felt so much smaller. Will was alive, at least. Sarah's eyes slid from Will to the barn, then up to Wheeljack's broad faceplate. "Is it alright to leave him alone in there? Your tactician, I mean."

Wheeljack plunked down on his aft to get more comfortable. "I think he'd rather be left alone for now. If he wanted anyone, he'd call."

"I suppose…" It was a little surreal to be talking to a giant alien robot when she kept picturing a human face every time the creature talked. Maybe it was because she had gotten used to Jack the human wandering around her property- such a funny and lively kind of man. Except 'Jack' had never been _real_, at least not the human shape Sarah knew. The real Jack, the 25-foot one she was currently talking to, was a little larger-than-life.

The engineer noted the uncertainty that crossed the human female's face. "You shouldn't let our problems ruin yer religious holiday, Sarah," he said smoothly, offering yet another smile-like gesture. "Go on back inside and never mind about us. We've been saying our goodbyes for a real long time, so we're damn-near experts at it now. Go on, enjoy yer day- don't let us ruin it." He made a little shooing motion for them, which Will seemed willing to accept, turning to move back into his house. Sarah looked far less content with the suggestion. She wrapped her housecoat tighter around herself and stepped out onto the doorstep.

"You're not ruining anything, Jack, I mean _Wheeljack_-," she shook her head. "Sorry, I'm still trying to fix the new names to the right robots."

"Either Jack or Wheeljack is fine. They ain't my actual designations anyways," the engineer shrugged.

Sarah went a little pink in the cheeks. "Oh, well, Jack, then… I can't just _ignore_ you, now that I know what you're all really here for. It wouldn't sit right with me. Especially not with one of your friends mourning the death of his lover, and another who is terribly sick." She swept a quick glance around. "Where is the little grey one I saw last night, anyways? Poor thing looked ragged."

Wheeljack motioned to the occupied barn he'd just been to. "Bumblebee is with…" How was he supposed to refer to Arcee? She hadn't been able to download English files, so she lacked an English designation, and worse yet, English lacked gender-neutral pronouns… Oh well, since all the Autobots so far were 'he', it didn't seem right to break a perfect score. "-him in the barn over there."

Sarah's grey eyes opened wide, her mouth dropping open. "Oh, that dirty old barn, with the animals?" She shook her head. "That's not right! _Especially_ for someone in such a delicate condition!" She looked to Will. "We could bring him in the house, couldn't we? He couldn't have been taller than eight or nine feet- there's plenty of room for someone so small. It's warm and clean in here; we'll clear out the living room to make room, set up the pull-out couch."

Will looked to be at a loss, only managing to murmur out a dazed, "Uh…"

Sarah continued to rattle off suggestions that would make Arcee's stay in the house more comfortable, unperturbed by her husband's lack of enthusiasm.

Wheeljack chuckled. "Don't get ahead of yerself, Sarah. The bot we're talkin' about has got some serious pride, and if he don't wanna come in, there ain't nothing anyone can do to make him."

Sarah frowned. "I still don't like the idea of anyone stuck out in the cold when there's a perfectly good house here. I don't even like the idea of all of you stuck outside, but you bigger ones wouldn't exactly fit in the house, now would you?" She waved her hand to where Optimus and Ratchet stood guard, though their gazes were now turned to the conversation in curiosity. There was no doubt in Wheeljack's mind that the pair of Autobots were getting a kick out of Sarah Lennox's fussing.

"_**Is she honestly serious about moving Arcee into their house?" **_Ratchet transmitted, humoured and curious.

"_**She'd apparently move us in too if she could," **_Wheeljack replied, sending a mirthful look over his shoulder, catching his friend shaking his head.

"_**These humans never cease to amaze me," **_the medic sighed, though he meant his comment in the best way possible.

Before he could reply, Wheeljack was snapped out of the conversation by Sarah's question, "Do you think I should turn the heat up or down for him? Is there anything your kind particularly needs?"

"Not really. We're not a high-maintenance species, if you can believe that," the engineer assured. "Megatron's frame is being flown in soon- it'll be here in a joor or two, so if we're going to be moving anybody about, we might as well get it done now. I'll go see if the femme wants to take up your offer." He straightened up, backtracking to Arcee and Bumblebee.

"Femme?" Sarah queried to Will.

"It's a frame type," he said lowly.

"Oh," Sarah replied, without fully comprehending the idea. "We should start moving things around for our guest"

Will sagged a little, letting himself be bundled back into the house. "We haven't even opened the presents yet, sweetheart. This is Annabelle's first Christmas…"

Sarah quirked an eyebrow. "Is she old enough to know what day of the year it is?"

"…no."

"Good, then she'll still think it is Christmas tomorrow." When Will looked at her like Christmas had just been cancelled, Sarah relented. "Or we can move the presents into the kitchen and open them there."

"But-."

Sarah thrust a pointed finger under Will's nose, her eyes glittering mirthfully. "Don't fight me on this one, Will, or you'll be sleeping in the barn."

He gave up all together after that. "Fine."

Wheeljack chuckled as the conversation faded. It was so much like listening to a bonded pair of transformers, only shorter and squishier.

Moving Arcee from the barn to the living room of the human dwelling was a lot easier than one would have thought it would be. When Wheeljack meandered back into the doorway to make the offer, she had all but jumped on it. To be fair, things must have gotten pretty tense between her and Bumblebee in the few moments the engineer had left them alone. Bumblebee had retreated to the far end of the isle while Arcee had buried herself in her stall, huddled stubbornly into the darkened corner. Taking that into account, Arcee's impressive bolt for the house was a little understandable. They didn't even bother to say a word to each other as she left, and Arcee could barely look Bumblebee in the headlights.

Watching their non-exchange take place, Wheeljack could only sigh to himself. Poor little things, old enough to have several eons of war under their armour, yet still so young at spark.

Upon seeing Arcee emerge from the barn alone, Ratchet immediately began to make his way towards her. She hissed at him. He took the hint and backed off. The moment Arcee hit the back doorstep, Sarah opened the door with a broad and welcoming look on her little fleshy face that Arcee could only guess meant she was welcome. The human ushered her into the warmth of the alien abode, laughing when Arcee struck her head on the doorframe and left a slight ding. Thankfully, Arcee's head was harder than the wood. Recovering from her embarrassing little slip-up, Arcee screeched her thanks for the invitation, which Sarah could only tilt her head at and smile awkwardly.

With the same bright-eyed welcome Sarah had ushered her into the house with, Arcee allowed herself to be guided deeper into the strange dwelling. A male human peered up at her as he bounced a sparkling-human in his arms. They both smiled, though the little one also blew salvia-bubbles. Arcee was… slightly grossed out, but kind of charmed. It was nice that her human hosts didn't stare at her like she was freak.

She was taken into a large, open room decorated with a large festive tree in the corner freckled with colourful ornaments. One wall was largely taken up by windows, giving an interesting view of a rather ugly and lopsided snowman, evidence of Bumblebee and Wheeljack's attempt at a human activity, which they only semi-epically failed at. Sarah guided Arcee to a long, low seating arrangement stripped of its cushions where a soft, square berth was unfolded for her.

"You can stay here, dear," Sarah said, motioning to the bed. "You must be exhausted from your long journey." Arcee understood this compact berth was meant for her only by the way her host was gesturing to it and smiling.

"**Thank you." **

Wheeljack was suddenly lying on the front lawn, his happy faceplate in the window. "He said thank you!" he translated.

"Tell him not to worry about it," Sarah assured kindly. She then turned to her awaiting mate in the doorway. "Go get some pillows are blankets for the poor dear, Will." Will trotted off with a shake of his head, trying to come to terms with the fact that he now had an alien staying on his pull-out couch. Thank God his parents decided to go on that Pacific cruise this Christmas, or he'd have a hell of a time trying to explain this one.

By the time Sarah was satisfied that her new alien guest was comfortable, the only thing that could be seen of the femme was the glow of her optics among the many layers of comforters and quilts piled on her. She was even given the remote to the TV in case she wanted to watch something.

"**Is this necessary?" **Arcee asked pitifully, looking from her human guest to Wheeljack in the window.

"**Oh, it ain't that bad, little one. Sarah will be a great Caretaker for you until Chromia gets back from doin' her dirty business with ol' Hide." **

"**I don't need a Caretaker, and I certainly do not need all these… **_**things**_** on me,"** Acree grumped, shaking a pillow.

"**Yer**** an ornery little thing, aren't you? No pleasin' ya," **Wheeljack teased, to which Arcee only hissed at him.

Sarah followed the rapid-fire conversation avidly. "What did he say?" she asked.

"He says thank you very much for everything, the blankets are wonderful. You're hospitality is sparkwarming," Wheeljack said, grinning brightly.

"Oh, how sweet!"

"**I don't know what you just said, but I know you're lying," **Arcee hissed.

"**Hush up, cranky-spark. The**** humans ain't fritzing about yer looks, and they're doin' everything they can fer ya even though it's an important holiday for them, so you better be a pit of a lot nicer," **the engineer warned.

Arcee seemed to calm down marginally in light of the warning. **"Sorry… It's just automatic by now." ** Glancing shyly at Sarah, she asked, **"That's a female, isn't it?" **

"**Yeah." **

Arcee smiled. **"Tell her she's being very kind." **

"**I will." **

Arcee smoothed one of her pillows across her lap, fascinated by how _different_ it was from everything she knew. The idea of a pillow, sticking it beneath her head if she laid down- that was just weird. Beneath her, the squishy berth creaked and groaned from her weight. So soft, and weak, and weird, and yet very, very kind. **"If it's okay with her, you can use the female pronoun for me to honour her." **

Wheeljack's fins flashed in delight. **"I'm sure Sarah will appreciate that." **

Sarah shifted from foot to foot, deciding that the Cybertronians probably didn't need her lurking in the corner while they tried to hold a conversation. As she turned to leave, Wheeljack called her back.

"You've got a big spark, little Sarah Lennox," he said, fins flashing like Christmas lights. "I think you've done what not many other transformers have managed to do."

"Oh?"

"You've gotten through to that little one's spark. He even wants to be called a 'she' in honour of you."

Sarah put a hand to her chest. "I'm honoured!" She trotted back to Arcee and took up one of her long, spindly hands, patting it kindly. "You're a real sweetheart, my dear." She even leaned up on her tiptoes to lay a kiss to the side of Arcee's faceplate. The contact, more than anything, flustered the femme.

"You all seem real comfy with each other now, so I'm gonna get going," Wheeljack announced. "I gotta get ready for Meggy coming later. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" Sarah laughed. "Oh, and Merry Christmas!"

The engineer tipped his head, amused and flattered. "Uh… Merry Christmas right back at ya."

* * *

Dawn passed smoothly into midmorning, which easily slid to noon, and as the shadows grew long in the snow, heralding the arrival of late noon, the brittle mountain air was stirred by the buzz of a pair of V-22 Ospreys coming over the horizon. Strapped below the pair was a large bundle, wrapped securely in several layers of black tarp. Lengths of thick, heavy chains kept the package closed so that no curious ground-bound eye could peer up into the alien vessel hidden within.

Ratchet connected to their radios and supplied them with the coordinates to where they wanted the frame dropped off. The clearing where the _Loki_ was parked would do just fine, though it had been an interesting, and rather _loud_, negotiation trying to get Chromia and Ironhide to leave the mountain niche. Of course, the negotiation was followed by a rather awkward and kind of confusing attempt at an explanation of where all the flowers came from. And why Ironhide's head was decorated with them. Ratchet was forced to swear, upon threat of painful death, that he would not to repeat, nor even _think,_ of the sight of the crown of bluebells Chromia had forced her mate to wear as retribution for making her wait so long for him. But with the sparkmates now gone, having wandered deeper into the trees for a place more private to conduct themselves, all the necessary technology and comforts of home offered by the _Loki_ were at the medic and engineer's disposal.

Optimus had declined following everyone to the clearing. While a part of him did want to see his brother's empty shell, perhaps to prove once again that the spark inside was now gone, a larger part of himself urged for him to do the right thing, which was stay behind in case Prowl required anything. If the urge struck him to go see his brother, then he would do so later in the day, when Prowl was most likely to have calmed down somewhat and was safer to leave by himself. In the meantime, Bumblebee had crawled out from the barn and was determined to keep his leader company instead of pining over Arcee.

The Ospreys, demonstrating their nimbleness even in among the high-winds threading through the jagged mountains, hovered steadily with their load swaying below. With careful manoeuvring, they got Megatron's frame as close to the drop site as possible, and then simultaneously released the cords anchoring him to the aircrafts. The black-wrapped frame hit the ground with a crash that shivered through the trees, leaving a healthy gouge in the earth where he landed. Hopefully the corpse held up better to the abuse. It wouldn't do them well to deliver damaged goods.

"Watch out below!" someone cried from one of the Ospreys, and then Megatron's remaining parts, his detached arm and leg, were pushed overboard.

Stepping out of the way so as not to get bonked by falling frame parts, Wheeljack waved his thanks to the pilots. Ratchet transmitted a few words. With a tip of their impressive wingspans, the aircrafts took of to return home, glad that their awkward mission to deliver the corpse of the alien who had tried to destroy their world was over.

Ratchet was the first to start cutting through the chains binding Megatron's frame, careful no to slice the tarps in case they needed the material later. Wheeljack instantly moved in to assist, yanking the tarps away like he was opening Christmas presents. Once done, they both took a couple steps back to observe the empty shell that was now at their mercy. It was still silver-grey, the paint having held up well to the erosion of the ocean, though the exposed parts of his internals through wounds had seen better orns. Patches of rust had spread like fungus across the metal, and though he had only been down there for a few months, there was already a healthy growth of sea life clinging to him. The military personnel had done their best to remove any and all sea creatures clinging to the corpse, but one of two poor, dried-out urchins remained. When the breeze picked up, a heavy scent of saltwater carried off the frame.

"He's uglier than I remember," Wheeljack intoned.

"He's not going to get any prettier with us just standing around," Ratchet countered flatly.

"No, he'll probably get uglier," Wheeljack laughed.

Ratchet shook his head, though a smile teased at his mouthplates. "We might as well get to work on him. No point in stretching this ordeal out." He walked over to where the severed arm and leg lay. Too stubborn to offer the dead fragger the dignity of carrying his limbs, Ratchet instead used his foot to kick the limbs over to where he wanted them to be.

Wheeljack watched with barely-veiled amusement until Ratchet caught on and glared.

"Patchwork would be so proud," the engineer commented lightly, grinning.

Ratchet glared even harder. "You leave my mentor out of this. I do not have a spark that black."

"_Yet." _The engineer's optics glittered playfully.

"Mute it."

Wheeljack raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, hey, no need to get snippy. I'm just sayin' if Patchwork were alive today, he'd be proud."

"Of my stunning treatment of patients?" Ratchet asked dryly as he gave Megaton's leg a sharp kick.

Wheeljack waved his hand. "Aside from that, you half-bit. You got an attitude on ya as big as a space station, and yer about as mean as a pit-hound; not many would have the struts to be kicking around Megaton's empty frame. That's enough to make yer old mentor proud."

"That is as much an insult as it is a compliment," Ratchet replied flatly.

Wheeljack shrugged. "At least you admit it was a compliment."

Grumbling, Ratchet scooped up Megatron's arm by a handful of dead wires, scanning it thoroughly. "If Patchwork were alive today, I'm quite sure he'd be berating me for contacting a Decepticon mercenary. And then he'd berate me for saying we'd pay _anything_ for her services. And then, if that weren't enough, he'd probably berate me for agreeing to fix up this fragging frame. He was such a pleasant mech like that- always trying to bring joy." The sarcasm was so thick it burned his vocal processor.

Wheeljack bent to pick up Megatron's leg, which was a stiff and left deposits of salt in his hands. "He'd have a point, you know." Ratchet glared furiously. "I didn't mean with all the berating. Okay, maybe a _little_ with the berating, but only about the part with Megatron's frame. It _is_ Megatron's frame, after all. We'd be better off breaking him down for parts than wasting time putting him back together."

"This was the only thing Virus would work for," Ratchet sighed. It had been a difficult negotiation, and Virus's voice still hissed in his audios. _"Give me Megatron's frame. Give it to me and I'll do whatever you want. Give it to me, and I will agree to any contract." _She did _not_ have a pleasant voice by any stretch of the imagination.

"Damn crazy glitch that one is. Nuttier than I was, from what I've heard," the engineer huffed. "Primus only knows what she wants with this thing." He shook his head, eyeing Ratchet. "I don't see why you had to call her anyways, not when you had Perceptor right on base." He started weighing Megatron's leg, testing the joint, examining the frayed circuits hanging from the end. He was there to be useful, after all.

"Hasn't Perceptor been trying to treat Arcee all this time?"

"Well, yeah."

"He hasn't cured her yet, has he?"

"…No."

"Then we're better off getting a fresh set of optics to look at the problem, and it is to our advantage that the optics we are getting are those of the original infector." Ratchet crossed his arms, shaking his head. "The risk is still high, I'll admit that, but with so many Autobots here, especially bots like Ironhide and Chromia, we'll hopefully be able to keep Virus in line during her... visit."

"Arcee ain't gonna like it."

"If she wants any hope of being rid of whatever kind of trojan program she has, then she will simply have to live with it." Done examining Megatron's arm, Ratchet dropped to the ground and steadily began removing the most eroded wires with the intention of replacing them with new ones, though none of Cybertronian-grade. He was just going to thread the arm with Earth-grade tech. No need to waste precious Cybertronian materials.

"That's harsh, Ratch'," Wheeljack said, taking up a seat across from his friend in order to start pulling wires from the leg.

Ratchet glanced up briefly. "You, of all bots, should know that life is not always kind."

Wheeljack ducked his head. "I know it, but that don't mean I have ta like it."

The medic shook his chartreuse head. "Nobody said you had to like anything. We all do what we have to for survival, don't we?"

The engineer looked away. "Arcee's been through enough as it is; bring Virus in, and that might be the one trauma that throws her over the edge. An' I know all about being over the edge, Ratch'. You saw it in my head. It ain't pretty. Dr. Spring might not be able to bring Arcee back if we do this to her."

"I know…" By his expensive sigh, Wheeljack could tell that Ratchet knew how close he was cutting it by bringing in that one particular Decepticon. "I've been wracking my processor trying to come up with some other way to help Arcee, but it's all dead ends. I'm _trying_, Wheeljack. I honestly am, but this is a no-win situation."

Wheeljacks shoulders drooped a little. "It's alright, ya don't have ta explain yerself ta me. You've always done what ya had to for yer patients."

A muted smile crossed the medic's bowed faceplate. "That's the one thing I can thank Patchwork for drilling into my processor. Every spark is worth going through the pit to save."

Wheeljack reached across and patted his hand. "That's what makes ya so great."

Ratchet relaxed a little. "Thanks, Jack."

"What are best friends for?" He smirked, withdrawing in order to hold up Megatron's severed leg. "Other than, you know, messing around with the empty frame of one of the most evil mechs known to history, of course. Not that I'm complaining or nothin', 'cause I always love messing around with the Unmaker's spawn with you."

Ratchet allowed a little laugh to pass out his vents. "The quicker we finish stringing this fragger back together, the sooner we can shove him into storage we don't have to look at him until Virus comes. And then we'll have a whole other kind of Unmaker's spawn to deal with."

"Don't jinx it. Ratch'," Wheeljack teased. "We've already got plenty on our plate now that the twins are planetside. Sunny and Sides ain't here right now, and we should enjoy the peace while we can."

"Primus only knows where they went," the medic sighed.

The engineer's fins flashed impishly. "Oh my, is that a hint of concern from you?"

"Not on your life."

The impish light in the engineer's optics grew brighter. "Really? 'Cause I could of sworn it sounded like you cared about where the twins disappeared to."

Ratchet glared. "Just get to work, 'Jack."

Wheeljack said nothing, choosing instead to stare with a barely-contained smile curving his mouthplates. He stared because he knew he was right. For whatever reason, Ratchet was _concerned_ for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Maybe it was because he hadn't seen the twins in so long and had forgotten how much of a pair of pains they could be, though the pit would rust over before Ratchet forgot, so it was more likely he'd been struck by them helping Prowl. That had come out of nowhere. Would miracles never cease?

Ratchet, irked by the staring, reached into subspace and pulled out one of his trusty wrenches. "I mean it, Jack. Get to work."

Finally, the engineer relented. "Alright, alright, no need for threats. I'm getting' ta work." He hunched over the frame with a determined air of concentration that only lasted for a breem or two. His concentration dwindled as quick a youngling's in the middle of a boring download, resulting in him fidgeting, sighing, and dropping Megatron's leg. He huffed and decided to stare up at Ratchet until his friend decided to take notice of him.

Ratchet, for a few astrocsecond longer, managed to continue his work in hopes that his friend would get a clue and get back to work. Unfortunately, Wheeljack rarely ever got the hint. He kept staring. Realizing he wasn't going to get any peace until he gave in, Ratchet glanced up, frowning.

"Can I help you?"

"We shouldn't be going to all this trouble for some slag-heap Decepticon mercenary," Wheeljack said.

Ratchet frowned, now irked to have the painfully obvious pointed out to him. "Thank you for that wonderful newsflash, Wheeljack. I never would have known otherwise."

"I'm serious, Ratch'." He waved grandly to all the trouble they were going to- sitting on the ground, outside, in the dirt, pulling circuits from limbs like they were bored younglings. "At least let me strip the innards of anything useful. We'll just give her the outer shell."

Ratchet frowned. "She'd notice if we stole any major parts. And I'm pretty sure Optimus wouldn't approve of us harvesting from his brother's frame without his permission. They may not have parted on the best terms, but it is still Optimus's decision what happens to frame until it is given into Virus's care."

"I could always ask him…" Wheeljack temped, fins flashing.

"No, don't bother."

Wheeljack sagged. "Fine, fine, but if we come upon any redundancy systems…?"

Ratchet shook his head, trying to hide his amusement at his friend's insistence. "Take them, but at least make it look like you didn't."

The engineer offered a mock-salute. "You got it. No one will be able to tell the difference." He dropped his salute. "If all this slag has taught me anything, it's how to pirate parts."

Ratchet quirked an optic ridge but said nothing. War had taught them many skills they never thought they would have to know. Wheeljack seemed to realize that he may have created a bit of an awkward moment, and instead of dispelling it as he usually would with something funny, he let the silence sit, ducking his head and fiddling with the severed leg.

Seeing to Megatron's frame turned out to be far less labour-intensive than rebuilding Jazz's frame had been. Aside from the fact that is was Megatron's frame and they were loath to the idea of doing anything with _Megatron_, dead or alive, it was actually rather relaxing sitting around poking at his innards. It was an unspoken agreement between the friends that neither was going to aim for a perfect reconstruction of the frame, which probably added to the sense of relaxation. They were tinkering with the parts as if they were apprentices again, just happy to be doing something sort-of interesting with no one's life currently on the line if they didn't get repairs done immediately.

In fact, they were so relaxed over their task that if they had had enough duct tape, they probably would have used it to string the empty shell together. As it stood, screws, bolts, and hinges worked just as well. Besides, Virus probably would have noticed the duct tape.

After loosely attaching Megatron's leg, Wheeljack started making good on his promise to make it look like he wasn't taking redundancy systems while he stripped the frame of everything he could find useful. A section of tarp next to him was scattered with his prizes, arranged haphazardly. Ratchet joined him in Megatron's internals shortly after, taking up the task of trying to make the frame look a little less like it had just spent the last few months at the bottom of a cold, dark ocean. The more he invested in the task, the more the medic started to notice a curious feature of the dead frame; it wasn't the same as he had last seen it at Mission City. Not as in the wear and tear the ocean currents would have inflicted on it. The complete opposite actually; some parts looks downright _regenerated_. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or Ratchet really was losing his mind, but some wounds looked marginally smaller. All sense dictated that was impossible, though; without the life-giving energies of a spark, the frame was nothing but a hunk of metal.

A prickling sensation crossed over Ratchet's armour as he glanced at the frame's dark optics, suddenly feeling as if he were being watched. Which was impossible. Megatron may have been one nasty, powerful fragger, but he couldn't come back from the dead. Ratchet was just psyching himself out. Although, just to be on the safe side, he cast several scans over the frame. He had no idea what he was looking for, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to find anything either. That would be going too far for him. Way too far. Thankfully, not a trace of energy could be found in the results; there was not even the faintest spark of life.

Chastising himself for falling for such a trick of the optics, Ratchet doubled his efforts in his work. Sparks did not suddenly rematerialize, nor could frames 'live' without the presence of a spark within them. He blamed his foolish thinking on being in proximity to Wheeljack for so long. It was the only explanation.

Oblivious to Ratchet's break in sanity, Wheeljack gave a healthy tug on the energy conduit he was trying to weasel out of the frame. While it wasn't strictly part of a redundancy system, the frame had enough conduits in it that no one would miss just one.

"You ever wonder what made him turn?" the engineer asked as he examined his new prize, tossing it to his pile.

Startled from his personal musings, Ratchet took a moment to think on what the white mech was asking. "Megatron?" he wondered.

"Yeah."

Ratchet shook his head. "We've had this conversation before, remember? More than once. And every time, we never get an answer."

"Sure we have, but now's as good a time as any to have it again." A brief nod was given to the frame. "He's dead as a heap of slag now, so it ain't like we gotta worry that he'll come after us."

"Mmhmm…" Trained optics stared at the frame carefully, and then he lifted his shoulders. "I've wondered about it, Jack. Almost every orn since the orn we left Cybertron, I've wondered. I even asked Optimus on his views, but he doesn't even know."

Wheeljack gave one long, low whistle. "If anybody would'a known, it would'a been Optimus. No two mechs were closer brothers."

Ratchet focused on the dead frame in front of him. "I think whatever made Megatron turn is a question without an answer."

"Yeah, I guess…" The engineer sighed. "You remember him before he snapped, don't you?"

Ratchet nodded. "You couldn't find a better mech than Megatron back then," he admitted sadly. "He was probably one of Cybertron's greatest Lord Protectors." He laid his hand to the broad, hard chest in an almost fond gesture towards the past. "He might have been a little rowdy for my tastes, but he lent a hand when someone needed it, and as strange as this sounds now, he was a great leader for the Autobots back on Cybertron."

"He was real sweet with the young ones, too," Wheeljack chuckled, optics warm with nostalgia. "Him, Optimus, and Ironhide were quite the trio lookin' after the planet. All three of them were more like brothers than anything."

"They were nothing but trouble to the Council when they teamed up," Ratchet sighed, though in an oddly amused sort of way. He had learned early on in his function as a member of the Council Pantheon to fear the orns Optimus, Megatron, and Ironhide ganged up to bully the Council into something.

Wheeljack nodded. "I guess I just find it hard to believe that someone as _good_ as Megatron turned into something like _this_." He swept a sad gesture over the decayed frame.

"Whatever happened to make him turn, it doesn't matter now. _He's dead_," Ratchet intoned determinedly.

"Yeah, but it still makes ya wonder…"

* * *

Optimus eased himself to ground when he could no longer stand the dignity of standing. Bumblebee scooted over for him, smiling briefly.

Prowl had yet to make any move towards the outside world. For the last few hours, the barn had been eerily silent, almost unnaturally so. If it wasn't for Prowl's steady spark resonance on sensors, they would have thought he somehow snuck out.

Optimus settled himself for comfort, tired servos whining, hydraulics hissing. Bumblebee cast him a once-over look, and then went back to staring at the Lennox homestead, which he had been doing for the last 2 or 3 hours. Sometimes the little scout would make a move to stand up, but then his doorwings would droop and he'd sit back down. Optimus tilted his head back to the sky, scanning it for the millionth time for those strange ripples he had seen two nights ago. Knowing he was not going to find the anomaly, the Prime turned his attentions back to the scout.

"Something happen between you and Arcee this morning?" he wondered softly.

Bumblebee jerked up in surprise, head swinging in Prime's direction. "What would give you that idea?"

Optimus smiled knowingly, and Bumblebee knew that he'd just gave himself away. Sighing, the yellow minibot shrugged lightly.

"I think I might have screwed up my chances with her," he admitted.

"How so?" Optimus asked.

Curious of Optimus's interest, Bumblebee pondered the Prime's expression for a moment only to find the flame-painted mech was genuinely interested in the problem at hand. That flustered the little scout even more than he already was.

"It's nothing," he sighed, looking down.

"It's got to be _something_ or you wouldn't be sitting here staring at the house like it contained the secret to life," Optimus countered.

A small twittering noise fluttered from the scout. "I'm not _that_ bad… am I?"

"No, I'm just teasing," Optimus assured.

"Oh." Another quiet twitter drifted Bumblebee. "Well, it's just…" He flung his arms out in front of him, a harsh, frustrated rush of air billowing from his vents. "Everything was going so well, Optimus! We were just talking, and I felt like I was really getting through to her, and then Wheeljack had to come in." He then sighed, sagged, and shook his head. "I know he didn't mean to ruin it, but as soon as he left, it all went downhill."

"Downhill?" Optimus wondered.

Bumblebee waved a hand in the air as if trying to grasp at the immensity of the moment Wheeljack had managed to ruin for him. It was such a big moment! But every time he tried to think of it, or even find the words, he always stumbled. "I was going to tell her that I- well, that I kind of… see, Optimus, for a long time now, I've really, really-."

The Prime canted his head. "You like Arcee."

"I uh…" Dumbstruck by the ease with which Optimus laid out one of his inner-most guarded secrets, Bumblebee was left to sit and stare.

Optimus smiled knowingly. "Am I right?"

The scout nodded faintly. "How did you know?"

Optimus chuckled kindly. "Little one, your affection for Arcee was one of your worst kept secrets on Cybertron. Even now, I don't think you can make it any more blatantly obvious."

Embarrassed, the minibot ducked his gaze to his folded hands in his lap. "I didn't think I was that obvious," he mumbled.

Optimus laid a hand to the top of the scout's horned head. "Well, dearspark, let's just say Arcee is probably the only one who hasn't caught on yet."

"Ah…" he shrugged, wriggling out from under the Prime's hand. With a quick glance back, finding Prowl still eerily silent in his mourning, Bumblebee sighed so that plumes of steam swirled around him. "Even if she didn't know, I doubt she'd want to hear it from me now."

"Wheeljack couldn't possibly have ruined the moment that badly."

Bumblebee shook his head. "No, he didn't, it's just what happened after… She started asking about Megatron's frame, and then about who wanted the frame, and I couldn't tell her, Optimus." He looked up beseechingly. "I honestly couldn't do that to her. It's the right thing to do, telling her about Virus, but it would hurt her so badly. I couldn't even look at her after. But it was the right thing to do, right?"

"Do you believe you did the right thing?"

"Yeah, I guess… It felt right at the time. I don't know anymore, though."

"You can always tell her now if you feel she should know," the Prime offered.

"I doubt she'd even want to listen to me now," Bumblebee said. "Did you see the way she ran away from me when Wheeljack asked if she wanted to stay in the house? She couldn't get away from me fast enough."

"An apology usually works wonders in situations like these."

"You'd think she'd listen to me if I tried?"

Optimus raised both his optic ridges. "You never know unless you try."

Bumblebee turned a longing stare towards the house. "But I'll never fit inside."

"You're a smart little Autobot, I'm sure you'll figure something out." He gave the scout an encouraging little nudge. "Go on now, take the first step. If Arcee is still your friend, she'll be bound to come around eventually. You're too persistent to resist for long."

With a chuckle, Bumblebee pushed to his feet and brushed his backside free of snow. "I just hope I don't screw it up."

"You won't," Optimus assured warmly.

"Primus help me if I do." He transformed and crept around to the front of the house where he knew Arcee was currently holed up. He felt her spark resonance grow strong and bright the closer to the wide living room windows he got. Sarah was not going to be too pleased with him for parking on the front lawn, but hopefully she would understand that parking on her snow-covered lawn was practically a matter of life or death.

Arcee startled as she saw him come into view, and then her optics narrowed with his approach. In one smooth move, she reached over and yanked the curtains over the windows closed.

That gesture alone nearly made Bumblebee wither right on the spot. Sucking in a fortifying drag of cold air, he called her. **"Arcee?" **

"**Go away," **she growled, loud and clear through the glass.

"**I just want to talk." **

There was a brief, tense silence, and then, **"We've been over this, Bee. There's nothing to talk about." **

"**I just want to say I'm sorry." **

"**That doesn't mean slag if you don't even know what you're apologizing for." **

He flinched, though didn't back down. **"I'm apologizing for this morning- after Wheeljack came in, things got out of hand." **

"**Yeah, right. You just don't have the struts to tell me who's coming here to try and fix me." **

"**You're right, I don't have the struts, but the only reason I don't is because I don't want to hurt you." **

The curtain yanked open and Arcee's faceplate glared through the glass. **"You're hurting me by not telling me." **

"**I know, I know, and it's **_**killing**_** me that I'm hurting you!"**

**"Then stop being a glitch and tell me who's coming!"**

**_"I can't!_ I really, really can't!"** His engine turned over, revving agitatedly.

**"Then you obviously don't care enough about me!"**

Before Bumblebee could stop himself, he found himself shouting, **"You have no idea how much you mean to me!" **

Arcee's optics shot wide, her mouthplates dropping open. Just as quickly, she jerked the curtains back into place and disappeared from view.

Bumblebee cringed to himself. **"Arcee? Arcee... are you still there?" **Of course she was, her spark resonance hadn't moved. She was just ignoring him now.

_'Smooth move, genius,' _Bumblebee sighed to himself. Of all the things he could have shouted, that was probably one of the dumbest. It was probably one of the last things Arcee wanted to hear when she was all but ready to walk willingly into the Matrix. Of course, Bumblebee wasn't going to back down now. Not after he'd come this far. And he was quite sure if he came back to Optimus after this soon, the Autobot leader would only end up sending him back until he got it right.

In a sudden stroke of brilliance, he activated his holo-matter emitters and materialized his hologram. Transferring partial-consciousness to the solid image, Bumblebee was left with the strangest sensation of staring at himself, but he shook it off quick and then walked through the glass window in front of him into the interior of the house.

While not surprised by the hologram's sudden appearance, Arcee certainly did not look pleased. She huffed, crossed her arms over her chassis, and did her best to turn away while still trapped within layers and layers of blankets and pillows. The colourful lights strung about the room reflected off her dull plating, casting her in rainbows. In Bumblebee's optics, she looked adorable.

"**May I come in, please?**" he asked softly.

"**You're already in,"** Arcee replied tersely.

"**May I stay in, then?" **

She looked him up and down sharply, seemingly deciding that his hologram was far less threatening than his actual form. She nodded her approval. Bumblebee smiled. The femme wrinkled her faceplate at the gesture **"You look so strange like that." **

"**Look who's talking,"** he teased, only to cover his mouth when he realized that might have been going too far.

Arcee's optics flashed, but staring at human-Bumblebee made her giggle despite herself. It was just so odd to see him so short, and pinkish, and squishy. **"You know, I think you're stranger looking."**

"**Okay, I'm stranger looking." **The hologram moved closer to her side, leaning up to run a pseudo-fleshy hand down her faceplate. **"It's the best I have, though. It's not like I'd fit in here normally." **

Weirded out by the touch, Arcee leaned away. "**I'd like to see you try."**

"**The Lennoxs' might not appreciate the effort,"** Bumblebee said, trying not to be hurt by Arcee moving away.

"**I'm worth it, aren't I?"** She tried to make it sound like a joke, but there was honest curiosity underneath. She wanted to know if she were worth anything anymore.

"**You're always worth it,"** Bumblebee replied warmly, as honestly as he could.

A tiny smile lifted her faceplate. **"And** **what you said out there- did you mean it?"** she asked quietly. Could that be hope in her voice? It sure sounded like it.

Bumblebee's blond hologram blinked, canting his head. "**About wanting to talk?" **

She gave him a flat glare. **"No, half-bit, about me meaning a lot to you."**

"**Oh…"** he looked down, and the expressions he used in this guise were hard to understand. Too alien. When he looked up at her, though, with his holographic eyes shining as bright as optics, she could easily read the sincerity in them. **"I meant every word."** He touched her faceplate again, palm shaping to the long contours of the metal. She didn't move away this time. Her hand came up to cover his.

**"Thank you,"** Arcee murmured.

**"You're welcome,"** Bumblebee said, eyes glowing.

She had yet to take her hand away from where it rested over Bumblebee's holographic hand. "**You mean a lot to me too, Bumblebee," **she admitted, almost like she was admitting defeat. Her voice was lower than even a whisper.

He could see how much it took for her to just say those few little words. It was not a grand declaration of undying love, but the spark behind her words were what touched his spark. Finding no words for that moment, Bumblebee leaned up as high as his hologram would go and pressed his forehead to Arcee's. He closed his eyes and felt her smile, felt her press back. The hand covering his moved down, her arms wrapping around his back. He hugged her tightly back, chuckling lightly with the oddity of hugging her through a hologram. And then he was being lifted onto the mattress. His hologram was settled in the valley of blankets between the femme's long legs, his back leaned against her chassis. Her head came to rest on the crown on his holographic head, long, stick-like arms still looped around him.

Sarah leaned around the corner to peer in curiously, spotted Benjamin/Bumblebee curled into Arcee's lap, and decided that it was a moment best left between the two of them.

"**Stay for a while,"** Arcee murmured quietly before she could help herself. Bumblebee's hologram was so small, so… _non-threatening_. Like a human. She wanted him to stay like that. If he did, she could pretend he was some other Bumblebee, not the funny, sweet, wonderful, bright-yellow one from Cybertron she fantasized about, but a short, kind, alien Bumblebee that was just there to be her friend and not think anything more about it.

**"Are you sure?"**

**"Yeah."** And because she felt as if she needed an excuse to keep him with her, she held up the small rectangular device Sarah had handed to her earlier. **"Show me how to work this." **

Seeing the offer for what it was, _a truce_, Bumblebee took up the remote with a broad smile. **"Okay."**


	40. Loki Lands V

Friends, readers, strangers of whom I have yet to meet, this chapter has been _years_ in the making. From the moment I first began _What Time We Have Left_, I have been planning this chapter. It has been tucked away in an ever secret place, guarded covetously day and night as I have awaited this day to come. And finally, after so long, it's here. It's finally here. There are no words to describe how it feels to sit on the precipice of this chapter and realize exactly how far I have come with this story. Dear God, if only you knew what's been flying through my mind since chapter 37. I'm literally _shaking_ right now. I'm just so… beyond anything after writing the last part for this chapter. After so long, this one milestone has finally come to fruition...

Please, by all the powers of the cosmic order, do review this chapter. Please leave your thoughts, your love. If anything, leave a hug. I need it as much as a fish needs water right now.

**Jason M. Lee**- Of course we just saw Megatron. His corpse was sitting right there... O_o

**Balrog Roike**- Hhmmmmm, you never know what the future may bring, now do you? There are so many unexpected things that fate tends to throw in our path… Of course, where anyone like Megatron, Virus, or any of their ilk is involved, unpleasant things are bound to follow… .

**C-Wolfeh**- Sarah was a doll to write for~ And RC/BB's moment was a fine touch of love I needed to write to get it out of my system. As for Megs… you never know what the future may hold.

**Angelgriever**- Awww, thank you very much. You're too kind. :)

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- I'm big on character development, if you haven't noticed. The plot is a slow moving one, but now that we're hitting the latter part of the story, things will certainly be picking up from here. :)

**FunkyFish1991**- Hehehehehe, never fear about feeling as if you've reviewed a chapter twice. Even if you end up repeating yourself endlessly, I will never, ever mind. The reviews are what really make it worth it, so when the words are set in cyber-stone, they're worth more than their weight in gold~ Your reviews, as always, are worth platinum. ;P

**Kittisbat**- So, I take it you like all my chapters, huh? Haha, well, I love it that you love all my chapters. Hearing that really makes writing them worth it. ^^ And, as always, your predictions are as wildly entertaining as they are completely off in space. XD

**Independent C**- Awwwww, but if Wheeljack learned to knock, then he wouldn't be Wheeljack anymore! ;_; He's funnier when he doesn't knock. However, I do appreciate the love for Arcee and BB's interaction. I figured a little love their way wouldn't go amiss. :)

**Bunnylass's Mummy**- Goodness, it was all my pleasure to dedicate the chapter to you. Your daughter is a remarkable woman with a talent to infuse everything she writes with a dose of love straight from the heart. I adore her reviews like birds love the sky, so any nudge you've given her in the past is deeply appreciated.

**Theshadowcat**- Thank you very much. ^_^

**Hopelessromantic721**- Optimus will have his happy ending sometime. It was Bumblebee's turn to grow up a little this time. His affections for Arcee were subtle in some ways, and yet so blatantly obvious in others. He may have thought he was being subtle, but the optics of those who know him best saw better.

**Lecidre**- Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that you had to scrap your first review you wrote! It's awful when that happens! . I assure you, though, you second review is loved just as much. In fact, it is loved more because I know of the extra effort you put into writing it. It goes to show how wonderful and special you are to go to all that trouble. Your love for 'Jack's and Ratch's interactions, as well as liking BB and RC's little scene, is much appreciated. They're all such fun character to write for. As for Megatron… you never know what nightmares the future holds..

**CuteKitten**- Well, my dear, I always look forward to reviews. 2 from the same person on the same chapter is simply extra love. ^_^

Special thanks to some very special friends and inspiration-givers: **FunkyFish1991, Lecidre, Bunnylass, Litahatchee**, and **Violetlight**.

**As We Come Together  
In Which the **_**Loki**_** Lands V**

They had made it from the very northern tip of the state to the most southern tip in the span of a day, hopping from one alt mode to the next whenever something sleeker, shiner, or faster passed them on the highway. There had been several moments when black-and-white cruisers chose to follow them, but the Earth-cars were slower than they were, easily outstripped. And even for the more persistent ones, a quick change of disguise was enough to shed them. Now they sat in their current alt modes, a pair of 2008 Dodge Vipers, overlooking the small oasis of a wealthy human's opulent backyard from a dry outcropping beyond the high white stone walls. It was not the Olympic-sized swimming pool, the harem-inspired gazebo, the lush foliage of the tropical garden, or the million-dollar patio complete with monster-sized barbeque large enough to roast a cow on that caught the twins' attention. No, it was actually the flat expanse of the driveway that they were rather stuck on. More specifically, the cars currently sitting in the driveway had their attention. No doubt there was more hidden away in the city block-sized garage, too.

The sun on the horizon cast a heavy red glow over the world, making it seem as if the pair of alien cars were on fire in the blaze of fading light. They weren't particularly concerned with hiding from the humans. If they were caught spying, they were safe in the knowledge that they could outstrip their pursuers easily. And if they were shot at, the worst that could happen was getting their paint nicked. From what Sideswipe has seen of the humans' current weapons, it wasn't even likely they'd get their paint nicked.

"Lookie there, Sunny. It looks like the herd is moving out," Sideswipe intoned, referring to the small knot of humans exiting the large multi-million dollar house through a side-exit and piling into a long, shiny black limousine.

Sunstreaker didn't give much of a response, other than a slight rumble of his engine. He hadn't spoken much since leaving Prowl and the other Autobots that morning. He'd managed a few obligatory sentences throughout the day, like "Sideswipe, stop showboating, they're shooting at us" and "Sideswipe, you half-bit, that is the ugliest car you ever could have scanned!" but nothing in the ways of actual conversation. There was just something _odd_ about him now. He wasn't cold, or distant, or even trying to shut Sideswipe out of their bond like he did from time to time. They were open and freely sensing the other, and what Sideswipe sensed was strange. Pensive. For that, Sideswipe thought it best to give his brother as much space as he needed.

That, of course, did not mean he wasn't going to stay silent for the whole time. There were some things that Sideswipe couldn't do, and silence for long stretches of time was one of them. No, he was perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation by himself. He had plenty of practice after vorns of finding the best ways to annoy others.

"What do you wanna bet that there are some seriously sleek alt modes down there?" he asked. Sunstreaker, predictably, remained trapped inside his own head. Sideswipe was undeterred. "With the flock… pack… herd, whatever human groups are called- heading out, I bet it would be all too easy to sneak in there and scan something. You want to take a look? I know we already have 6 different Earth-alt modes scanned, but what's it going to hurt if we have a couple more, right?" Still no answer. "I've already scanned the security around the place, and believe me, it's no Decepticon stronghold. We'll be in and out in no time." Sunstreaker's engine turned over quietly. Sideswipe felt no particular inclination or disinclination from his twin. "It's settled then, we'll wait a little longer for everyone to clear out, and then we'll sneak in. I've got a couple cubes of energon stashed away in subspace just for us, 'cause I know by the time we get out of there, we're going to be running on fumes. All this transcanning has wiped my reserves." The last slivers of the sun slipped below the blood-red horizon, bathing them in cool, indigo twilight. In hopes to at least get a little response from Sunstreaker, Sideswipe said, "Hey, you know, we could also scan something for Chromia and Prowl if we see anything-."

Sunstreaker's engine rumbled softly, and then he began to ease down the rocky side of the high hill towards the human compound.

There were cameras stationed along the top of the high walls, and motion sensors dotted the ground. The technology that made up both was sadly lacking, so it only took a minor electromagnetic pulse to short them out. The lights flickered out from the brief burst, which only added to their cover. A scan of the compound further revealed that there were still life forms present on the property, a scattering of humans who were too far away from the western side of the house where the garage was for them to be any threat to the lurking Autobots. No one was any more the wiser of the aliens laying in wait just beyond the walls.

Sideswipe transformed, trying to shift through the process as quietly as he could. There was no way of telling how sensitive the humans' hearing was. Stretching up high, he peered over the top of the wall, only to see that the only attention his transformation had attracted was from the small ugly canine units, which stared up at him with snubbed noses and wide, dumb eyes.

"Shoo. _Shoooo_," Sideswipe hissed. Even if his voice was pitched low, the dogs did not like how screechy it was, like poorly-tuned radios and nails across a chalk board. They fled before Sideswipe could say anything more. Grinning, the red twin peered back at his newly-transformed twin. "Coast is clear," he announced. With a nod from Sunstreaker, they vaulted the wall with easy grace, landing in the courtyard with a scarce whisper of servos. "This is going to be too easy."

"Let's just get it over with," Sunstreaker said as he straightened, stretched, and then made a beeline for the asphalt stretch of the driveway. The long, low door of the garage was automatic; it required less than an astrosecond to access the controls and command them to open. Ducking low, they crawled in and closed the door behind them. They were not the most skilled infiltrators of the Autobot ranks, but even they had to admit they pulled their breaking-in scheme perfectly. The reward they found on the inside was well worth any risk they took. The garage was like crawling into a showroom, lined with cars of all makes and models, sided by motorcycles and trucks and SUVs. It was dark, but not dark enough to blind them. With a simple adjustment of their optics, they saw in perfect detail the treasure trove them had come into.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," Sideswipe announced appreciatively as he crawled down one isle of spotless metal beauties. Had he of known a Cybertronian with an alt mode half as attractive as the ones he was seeing here, he'd be all over that one bot. No questions asked. Well, there'd probably be questions _after_ he thoroughly molested another bot, but he definitely wouldn't ask questions before. For primitive Earth wares, these cars were hot. He peered over his shoulder to gauge his brother's reaction to such a spread of choices. Unfortunately, Sunstreaker looked largely unaffected. He took up a spot near the door and simply sat there, staring around the dark without really seeing anything.

Disappointed by such a sad reaction, Sideswipe nonetheless tried to be cheerful. "What do you think, Sunny? See anything you like?"

Ice blue optics traveled from one metal masterpiece to the next. "Not particularly."

Sideswipe shook his head, glad to have gotten a verbal response, but still looking to goad for more. "Well, you don't have to transcan anything you don't want to. I just thought that maybe you'd like a little more variety, something shiny and flashy and screams 'look at me! I'm Sunstreaker! I'm amazing!', but if you don't feel like it…"

The golden mech shrugged. "Whatever you choose is fine. I'll scan you after."

Sideswipe froze. Sunstreaker, the ever-meticulous one when it came to his frame, would stoop to scanning the alt mode of another bot instead of scanning a car for himself? That was going too far. Sunny could mope, sulk, brood, and be a pain in the aft all he wanted, but saying something so… so disgustingly un-Sunny-like was where Sideswipe drew the line. Rocking back on his heels, Sideswipe fixed his brother with a flat look. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Sunny?" he prompted, with no great response in return. "I'm prettier than you."

Sunstreaker's optics flashed bright, his frame snapping rigid. "Only in an alternate universe, you half-bit," he growled, grabbing a miniature garbage can and tossing it at the red mech.

Laughing, Sideswipe caught the garbage can and set it down without letting harm come to the cars they were surrounded by. "Desperate times called for desperate measures, bro. You were starting to spout blasphemy."

"You are such a half-bit."

"Hey, it snapped you out of it, didn't it?" Sideswipe laughed, delighted to have his brother back from whatever corner of his processor he'd been skulking in for the last few joors.

"Only because it was the single most ridiculous thing you ever could have said."

Sideswipe shrugged. "I could have called you ugly, but I don't think the planet would have survived the fallout from that."

A wry smile crossed Sunstreaker's dark mouthplates. "You're right, the planet wouldn't have survived, and neither would you," he warned, not entirely joking. He took a deep drag of humid air in through his intakes, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a rush. "But thanks for caring enough to snap me out of that."

"What are brothers for?" the red mech intoned, smiling.

"Annoying the slag out of me?"

Sideswipe, predictably, pouted. "Other than that."

There was a moment when Sunstreaker had the opportunity to rib his brother more, but instead he canted his head consideringly and said, "You're good for being my brother."

Likewise, Sideswipe was suddenly granted the opportunity to make a crack that would probably ruin their brotherly moment, but he restrained himself enough to say, "You're not too bad yourself."

"I know."

They smirked at each other, optics glowing with mirrored looks of understanding. Finding that this was as good a time as any to start up a spark-to-spark conversation, Sideswipe settled down at the opposite end of the long garage, resting his back against the wall and mirroring his twin in everything but his paint colour. They stared at each other for the longest time, their smirks fading into something far more muted. It was just them, alone. Whenever the chips were down, it always came down to the two of them on their own. As what usually happened when they were only in each other's company, the walls that usually surrounded their frames and sparks relaxed. Twin sighs drifted from them both simultaneously.

Sideswipe sat gauging his brother with a strange interest, getting to know him again for the millionth time; once again, right before his optics, Sunstreaker was changing. This time, however, it was for the better. He _felt_ it. He could _see_ it. It was in the way Sunny sat, his shoulders relaxed, his arms loose, his legs crossed in front of him; not the battle ready stance of a killing machine, but the tired sag of a mech looking for time to rest. Someone who knew Sunny less would not have seen those subtle changes, but for someone who had lived every moment of Sunstreaker's life right alongside him, Sideswipe knew his brother better than anyone and could read those changes as if they were neon signs. He also saw the beginnings of change in his brother's optics. There was kindness in his optics again, softening the ice of his pale blue optics. This detail, perhaps, was more noticeable, because it affected Sunstreaker's whole faceplate. It made him even more handsome.

Sunstreaker shifted, closing his optics. He knew Sideswipe was sizing him up. He didn't mind, not this time. He let his twin take stock of all that he saw; golden frame, blue optics, a faceplate that would always be better looking than his… He didn't have to ask if Sideswipe could see the changes. He _felt_ his brother's knowing. There was reassurance in the feeling, matched by a subtle pride that put Sunstreaker further at ease. Whatever he was becoming, he trusted his brother; even if he had no idea what he was becoming, if Sideswipe saw something good in it, than the change couldn't be all that bad. It hurt like a glitch, sure, but didn't that come with the territory of having a spark? He didn't really know what made him do it, but he reached out to his brother's spark.

A soft noise sighed from Sideswipe's vents. Automatically, he reached back. Even if Sunstreaker occasionally forgot that they were twins, Sideswipe never did. He embraced the strangely timid presence of his brother, wanting to cry and laugh at the same time when the touch felt so much like the quiet little youngling Sunstreaker had once been. It was as if the layers were slowly being peeled back, revealing the soft core that had always been there, hidden in a dark, dark place. The smile that came across Sideswipe's faceplate was one of relief, his head tipping back until it hit the wall, his optics closed as he revelled in the connection he felt. How could he have ever thought Sunstreaker was dead inside? He was anything but a ghost. It was more like he had been… hibernating all this time. Hiding. Now, right before Sideswipe's optics, his brother was starting to come back.

Opening his optics and tilting his head back down, Sideswipe fixed Sunstreaker with a smile that made his optics shine. "Welcome back. I missed you."

Sunstreaker stared, confused. He wasn't quite back to the place where he understood everything about what Sideswipe was thinking yet. That was going to take a little more practice. Of course, as younglings, he had never quite understood Sideswipe then, either.

Sideswipe shook his head, breathing a laughing sigh through his vents. "Never mind," he said.

"All right."

A fashion of silence passed again between them, and then, when Sideswipe finally decided enough time had passed, he said, "So… you and Prowl, huh?"

"It's not like that."

Sideswipe smirked. "I never said it was."

With a snort, Sunstreaker looked away. "You're such a glitch." Thankfully, it was said with enough love that Sideswipe was hardly insulted.

"Well, are you going to tell me what happened between the two of you, or are you going to make me pry?" the red mech pressed. "Don't make me pry, because then I'm going to have to wait for you to fall into recharge, and then I'm going to hack into your head."

With a roll of his optics, Sunstreaker replied with an airy, "There's nothing much to say. He needed help, and I gave it."

"Was it _naughty_ help?" Sideswipe asked, bobbing his optic ridges.

Sunstreaker glared flatly. "No. You would have felt it if it was."

Sideswipe laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh yeah, I would have, wouldn't I?" He canted his head. "So what really happened?"

Sunstreaker looked away, unable to find words. Sideswipe yet again felt the same oddness that had plagued him through their bond all day.

"Come on, you can tell me," the red mech insisted. "I'm your twin, for Primus' sake- if you can't tell me, who can you tell?"

This garnered a half-sparked snort from Sunstreaker. "Fine, you're right." He turned his gaze back to his brother. "I just wanted to do something nice for a change, that's all."

"That's all?" Sideswipe repeated, optic ridge quirked. He couldn't say he wasn't satisfied with the answer, but it certainly left something to be desired. Shouldn't there be more to the story? A reason for such odd feelings to be radiating from Sunstreaker's spark? Sideswipe knew his brother too well to know that this wasn't the end of the story, even if Sunstreaker himself didn't want to acknowledge it.

The gold mech shrugged and asked, "What more do you want?"

"Come on, bro, now I know you're slagging with me. I know what it looks like when you maintenance a mech- you dusted him off, popped out his dents, and you even used your polish on him. You don't even share your polish with _me!_" The red mech gave a dramatic sigh. "If you were any other mech, and if Prowl were any other mech, I'd say you were trying to court him."

Sunstreaker tried to evade with a weak, "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Hardly. Besides, at the time, you both thought Jazz was alive. You may be a glitch most of them time, but you wouldn't get between Prowl and Jazz, which begs the question why you would go to all the trouble in the first place." Sideswipe levelled a serious look with his brother. "I just want to understand _why_, Sunny. I don't have the option of knowing automatically anymore."

A long pause followed Sideswipe's admission. Sunstreaker's not-so-icy optics sized his twin up, considering him and his requests, and trying to come up with an answer that would make sense to the both of them. Eventually, he said, "He reminded me of Moonfly."

For a moment, Sideswipe's optics flashed wide, and then he smirked lightly. "Short, green, and funny in the head?"

"Not funny," Sunstreaker grunted.

"Sorry." Obviously not time for a joke.

The golden mech snorted quietly, now on the defensive. "It was probably only because she's been in my head a lot lately. I see her in some of the murals on the walls, sometimes when I recharge now, and then Prowl had to drag her up in my head…" He shook his own head. "It's like she's haunting me."

Sideswipe felt the urge to crawl forward, put his hand on his brother, comfort him maybe, but he resisted out of respect. Sunstreaker hadn't wanted comfort when the Kaon gladiatorial circuit was bombed and he probably didn't want comfort now.

"Maybe I'm just being stupid," Sunstreaker murmured miserably.

"Not stupid. It's called _having a spark_." Sideswipe gave a muted smile. "By the way, you're growing yours back. It suits you."

That was enough for Sunstreaker to surrender a ghost of a smile, albeit a bitter one. "Thanks."

Sideswipe shrugged.

"You know, I thought I was doing something nice by helping Prowl. When I walked into his quarters, he was so sick, and dirty, and his neck was still messed up from when I tried to… tried to kill him." Sunstreaker looked down at his hands, still shiny from excess polish. He studied his claws for a moment, noticing how they glinted a dark-blue in the dimness of the garage- it was a stained colour that wouldn't come out. "He was so pathetic looking. His optics looked so much like…" He didn't need to say the designation for Sideswipe to know. "I thought I could help him. I wanted him to look at least somewhat presentable to Jazz. It didn't seem right to just leave him by himself like that." Oddly hesitant optics strayed to Sideswipe. "Is that so wrong?"

Sideswipe shrugged again. "Not really."

Sunstreaker frowned, optics dimming. "Maybe I shouldn't have helped him."

Still, Sideswipe shrugged. "If I were you, I would have done the same thing."

There was little comfort to be found in the admission. "It was like setting him up for the fall, though. I helped him get back a bit of his dignity, and as soon as I did, _surprise_- Jazz is dead."

"You didn't know," Sideswipe countered firmly. "Jazz was one of the toughest, craziest mechs we knew. He was absolutely the _last_ bot anyone would ever think of dying."

A cold feeling passed through the pair as they thought of their comrade. That damned crazy mech no one could ever touch in battle. The kind of mech that had made 'crazy' a lifestyle. He had been a Decepticon that every Autobot feared, someone that even the twins would have been nervous of engaging on the battlefield. Yet Jazz had turned that around at the hands of Prowl, somehow becoming an Autobot who anyone would trust their sparks to. Despite all the deaths that had come before him, and all the death that were sure to come after, Jazz was going to be especially missed.

Sideswipe shuttered his optics, sighing. "You thought you were doing something kind, and that's what matters. I bet Prowl appreciated it, even if things didn't exactly turn out for the best."

Sunstreaker nodded slowly, and then said, "Do you think being in his head screwed me up somehow? _Made_ me help him?"

A brief, frustrated frown crossed the red twin's faceplate. "You don't give yourself enough credit, you know that? You did it on your own. You said it yourself; you wanted to do something _nice_ for a change." Sideswipe tilted his head for a moment. "For being one of the most conceited mechs I know, you're bizarrely modest."

"Mute it or I'll throw a car at you."

Seeing as that was more like the Sunny he knew and loved, Sideswipe dared to grin a little. "I mean it, though! You're the most humble homicidal berserker I know."

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. Slag. All his brother spouted was complete and utter slag.

Getting control of his grin, Sideswipe rolled his shoulder, leaning forward a little. "So, when you were in Prowl's head, what did you see?"

The golden mech wrinkled his faceplate. "Things I didn't want to see," he replied. Flashes of that storm crossed before his mind's optic, making it feel as if the bottom of his tanks were dropping out. "Saw what he felt. Saw what he thought of most."

"Jazz." Statement of fact. It was no mystery what Prowl thought of, especially not now.

A shallow nod. "He loved Jazz. For all the times we thought he was a sparkless glitch, he really wasn't. I didn't think someone like him could love anyone so much."

Sideswipe sighed softly. "Some would say the same thing about you."

"I know."

The red twin gauged his brother, feeling out the moment. "Did he see inside your head?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah."

"What did he-?"

"Just Moonfly." Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, first seeing a flash of green, and then Prowl's faceplate materialized. He saw the profile of Prowl's faceplate as he stared at the wall where the faded murals laid, staring at one particular smudge of paint. "He asked about her."

Sideswipe flinched a little. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much, only her designation and that she and I…"

"Oh."

Sunstreaker absently nodded.

"Are you okay?" Sideswipe asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine." His rubbed at his ice-coloured optics, and then sighed. "Prowl… not so much."

"You could help him through this, if you wanted."

Sunstreaker stared flatly, saying nothing.

Sideswipe cringed. "Nevermind." Sunny was just getting used to himself again. Trying to help another emotionally distraught bot would probably be enough to shove Sunstreaker right back over the edge. Not to mention he hadn't taken Moonfly's own death very well. He'd handled it exactly as a berserker fresh from the gladiatorial circuit would- with a massacre. Not exactly something anyone wanted passed on to Prowl.

Twiddling his thumbs, the red melee warrior dared to ask, "When Prowl's back to…you know, being Prowl, you gonna try something with him?" Sunstreaker stared at him as if he'd grown another head. "Oh, come on- I _felt_ it, bro. I felt the connection you two had."

"We had an understanding, that's all." The golden mech snorted quietly.

Sideswipe leaned forward eagerly. "And is that 'understanding' likely to get me out of slag next time I do something stupid?"

"No."

He blinked, and then pouted. "Oh, well that's stupid."

"And trying to start something up with Prowl isn't?" Sunstreaker asked incredulously. "He just found out Jazz is dead and you're already looking for ways to sneak out of trouble. Have you no shame?"

"No," Sideswipe replied automatically.

Sunstreaker sighed in mock-disgust. "There's no getting through to you." His optic caught on the sight of a dark shape near Sideswipe's left. "Hold up that car, will you?" he asked. Sideswipe did, taking the car by the bumper and lifting it, revealing it to be an extremely rare 1970 Plymouth Barracuda perfectly restored. It was a drag racer's dream. And, as it just so happened, it matched Chromia's mass perfectly. "Hold it still for me- I'm going to scan it."

"Not really your style, bro- and a little small for you."

"It's for Chromia, half-bit."

Sideswipe laughed and put the car down as soon as it was scanned. "Well- it's kind of old school. She'll probably like it." He spied a sleek little beauty a few cars down from the Barracuda. "_This_ is more our style," he announced, scooting down the row to the electric-green Lamborghini sitting so temptingly before him.

"_Nice."_

They scanned it simultaneously, relaxing as they felt the changes come over them. The structure of their armour relaxed, shifting, moving. Parts rearranged themselves. Sleek lines and contours took shape. In moments, they were new again, mirror images of the other except for their specialized cranial crests and faceplates. Sideswipe kept his blunt crests and protective 'helmet' like structure, while Sunstreaker kept his razor-edged fins. They looked down at themselves, snorting when they saw they were both still electric-green. Their power reserves were too drained to initiate automatic colour correction. It took a moment for the manual shift, but soon there was one red mech and one gold.

From outside, the odd sounds to crunchy gravel caught on the breeze. A human would not have been able to pick up such faint noises, but the Cybertronians sure could. Not only were their multiple tires creeping up the street, around the driveway, their scans revealed multiple humans. The click of guns being armed, checked, rechecked put them on full alert. Immediately, the pair of Autobots swept the radiowaves, picking up a police scanner-

"_-outside the house now. There are approximat__ely one dozen men inside the house, possibly more. The garage is dark, but there are some pretty weird noises coming from inside. We hear minor movement, but we can't be sure it's human." _

"_Could it be a bomb? Should I alert the bomb squad?"_

"_No, it sounds like… I don't know what it sounds like. Computers? Some of that techno-music crap? We're going to go in just to be safe."_

"_Tell your guys to keep their wits about them. This is a drug and arms dealer you're dealing with. We have him and his family in custody now, but who the hell knows what he's got stashed around that place-."_

The twins' gazes snapped to each other. Of all the houses they could have snuck into, they kust _had_ to get caught in a human drug dealer's place. _Great. _Just fragging great.

Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his head. "What do you think our chances are of getting out of here without being seen?"

"Not high."

"Okay, how about not being shot at?"

"Not good."

"You wanna transform and just wait it out?"

"Not particularly."

A familiar sparkle came into the red mech's optics, the kind of sparkle that usually came when there was mischief to be had. "You wanna do something incredibly stupid that will probably get us in loads of trouble?"

Sunstreaker blinked, pondered the proposal for a moment, and then smirked. "Sure."

"Alright, on the count of three…"

Synchronized in the way only twins could be, Sideswipe readied himself for the mad leap he was about to take while Sunstreaker accessed the garage controls again. They could hear the humans gathering. Their battle-honed instincts knew well what the tension before an attack felt like; the humans were close to launching their attack. Only thing was, the twins were the kinds of Autobots to simply let an attack come. They were more for throwing themselves headfirst into battle. The humans would never know what hit them.

"_1…"_ Sideswipe murmured, tensing.

Sunstreaker's optics flashed, suddenly feeling alive. _"2…"_

"**3!"**

A collective roar rose up as the door flung open. Sideswipe leapt like a blur, transforming as he went. He was a flying rubix cube going over the humans' heads, a blur of twisting metal, red paint, and bright headlights as his wheels hit the ground. A scream of black rubber broke over the chaos as he flew out into the street like the Unmaker himself was on his aft.

Sideswipe wasn't even out of the yard before Sunstreaker made his move. Too shocked by the red Lamborghini's stunning escape, the humans failed to see, or even hear, the golden twin's transformation. However, they did hear the monstrous snarl of his engine as he gunned it. By the time they turned around, a golden blur was roaring past them, fishtailing into the street and howling off on the ass of its red twin.

* * *

The night was peaceful now. Quiet. Serene. Mostly only because Optimus had not idea what was going on at the southern tip of the state, which included two of his Autobots, a drug & arms raid gone wrong, and a good majority of the police force for several precincts. And, unlike the high-speed chase the twins had undertaken that morning, this one was actually making it to the news. Actually, Blaster was recording the chase back in Tranquility so anyone who missed the twins being on TV would be able to relive the moment over, and over, and over…

Understandably, ignorance in that moment was bliss.

The flame-painted mech settled carefully against the trunk of one of the few trees on the immediate Lennox property. It was a sturdy old thing that held up to his weight well, its branches bare to allow a perfect view of the sky above. He was positioned close enough to the barn to be available to Prowl should the tactician call on him, yet also close enough to the Lennox homestead to be privy to the happy, homey sounds drifting from within, which offered a lonely kind of comfort.

If he closed his optics and focused his audio receptors on the house, he could here the mix of Earthling and Cybertronian laughter as they watched a movie together. For what Optimus could here of the conversation, they were watching something called _Cars_. Annabelle sounded as if she were endless entertained by something, her high peals of laughter ringing over everyone else's voices. Arcee was constantly asking what was going on in the movie, and Bumblebee dutifully translated for her. Sarah and Will weren't saying much, but Optimus could guess that they were simply content to be together.

A shock of light against the night caught Optimus's attention. Thinking it was Ratchet and Wheeljack taking a break from their repairs, he turned to wave them over, only find a dissipated ripple of blue in the air, not far from the edge of the trees. Excess spark energy. Prime chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head. If he left them to their business, Optimus has no doubt Ironhide and Chromia could keep going all orn and then some. In a couple joors, he'd have to step in to plead for them to tone it down, and hopefully not be shot in the process. Their alien hosts were kind enough to put up with them for as long as they had already, but several days worth of endless 'spark-sex', as Will had jokingly called it, would most likely start to unnerve them.

Musing to himself over the potentially humorous conversation that would probably ensue if he had to negotiate with Ironhide and Chromia, Optimus almost missed the sudden change in environment around him. The movement of Prowl's spark signature caught his attention. A quick glance to the left revealed a storm-grey shape easing out from the darkened barn. Immediately, Optimus was on his feet.

"May I sit with you, sir?" the tactician asked quietly.

"Of course." Optimus stepped to the side to accommodate the mech. Prowl shuffled over, dropped to the ground gracelessly, and then watched with dull optics as Optimus settled down next to him. The tree behind them groaned as it took their combined weight. A muffled crack beneath the ground warned of a snapped root.

"As soon as Ratchet and Wheeljack return, I am going to ask them to dismantle the frame," Prowl sighed.

"Are you sure?" Optimus asked, frowning. "You shouldn't feel any pressure to do so. This is your decision alone to make."

A storm-grey head tilted back, dull metal stained brownish-yellow down his faceplate. "I want them to do it. What else would I use the frame for? We need the parts. Otherwise, I'll end up staring at that frame for the rest of my life wishing for something I can't have anymore."

Optimus bowed his head, at a loss for the right words to say. Prowl was an odd mech among his Autobots- he was not one of the younger ones like Bumblebee who would accept a hug for comfort, nor was he like Ironhide or Ratchet, whom were still his friends beyond Autobot status and allowed for having an arm put around their shoulders, or accepted a shoulder to lean against when necessary. Optimus knew Prowl, knew much of the mech's life, his accomplishments, his abilities, his strengths, but at the same time, Prowl had always remained distant, aloof.

"I apologize for being this informal with you, sir," the tactician sighed, shaking his head.

"It's understandable, Prowl," Optimus dismissed.

"But it's no excuse." One hand rubbed at his optics tiredly. "My emotional center may be interfering with my logic circuits, but that shouldn't excuse my disregard of rank."

"Again, it's understandable," Optimus assured, laying a hand to Prowl's shoulder. "This is an emotional time for you. A little out-of-character behaviour can be expected."

Prowl grimaced, his shoulders hunching. "I will not make a habit of it." He took a shudder drag of air, letting the cool air further numb his insides. "Smokescreen is already on the planet, is he not?"

Optimus nodded. "Yes, he landed with Mirage and Hound in the _Uller_."

The storm-grey mech nodded. "He's a good tactician, Prime. For the time being, I'm going to step down from my position as tactical advisor and I want to nominate him for the position."

"I figured that you would propose something like that as soon as you were up for speaking with me," Optimus admitted quietly.

"It's only temporary, until I work through this. In my current condition, I'm nothing but a liability to the Autobots." It sounded like it pained him to admit such a weakness.

"Take as much time as you need, Prowl. There's no rush."

The tactician nodded solemnly.

"And if you feel as if you need to speak with anyone, I'm here, as is Ratchet." Prowl still nodded. "When we get back to base, there is also a human doctor that I suggest you speak with if you feel the need. She has been assisting Ratchet in rehabilitating some of our more damaged Autobots that have landed. Her services may be of use to you."

Because the Prime was suggesting it, Prowl did not outright deny the offer. Instead, he contemplated it for a short time, and then said, "I shall consider it. Thank you."

Muted laughter from the Lennox home drifted through the cold night. Optimus and Prowl let silence fall between them. There was little else that could have been said. Prowl slowly relaxed against the tree trunk as pure exhaustion hit him. He was so tired now, drained of everything. He would have tried to cover up such a weakness if he weren't so tired, but Optimus Prime would have been able to see through the attempt anyways. The Prime was like that, able to see past so many things.

Prowl remained quiet for so long, with his optics closed, his frame relaxed, that Optimus worried he might have fallen into stasis. That worry was swept away the moment Prowl spoke again. His voice was still weak, laden with emotions that Prime rarely ever heard gracing his tactician's voice.

"I shouldn't be this affected," he stated quietly. "I shouldn't… _feel_ this much. It's like I'm dying inside. If I was stronger, able to handle myself better…

"You loved him, Prowl," Optimus reminded, frowning minutely.

"Yes, but I've seen so many die already. _Millions_. Even with my emotional center turned on, I thought I was numb to it by now." He snorted self-deprecatingly. "Apparently I was wrong."

"You loved him. Nothing changes that," Optimus pressed, gentle yet firm.

Prowl dropped his head. "I…" A pained sound drifted from him as he tried to form the right words. "I _still_ love him, sir. As illogical as that may sound."

"It's not illogical at all," Prime assured. Wishing to say something more, he said, "I'm sure wherever Jazz's spark is now, he's at peace. I doubt a little thing like death could change his feelings for you."

"A little thing like death," Prowl repeated wryly. A humourless smirk ghosted his mouthplates.

"I did not mean to make light of the circumstance," Optimus quickly intoned.

"I know."

"You do not believe in sparks continuing on after they extinguish." Not so much a question as it was a statement.

"You mean the Matrix?" the tactician enquired. When Optimus nodded, Prowl shook his head. "I was not programmed to believe in nonsense, nor have I ever sought to believe in it. The only Matrix I know of is the one you carry. I am not so far gone yet to believe in something so ridiculous as an alternate plane of existence our sparks exist on after they pass from this world."

It was such a Prowl kind of answer that Optimus smiled in answer.

Taking the initiative to continue, the tactician took a drag of air, daring to look minimally more animated. "Despite everyone we have lost, I have never given death itself a second thought. It is such a finalizing event. It makes the best sense that once our sparks extinguish, we cease to exist." He shrugged dully. "What sense is there to carry on, in this world or in some unproven elsewhere?"

Optimus considered the question politely before answering. "It may not make sense, but it offers comfort to those who have lost loved ones. In some sense, if their sparks are still out there someone, it means that perhaps some orn they may all see each other again."

Prowl closed his optics, sighing. "Belief in the Matrix stems from the same time myths of Primus and Unicorn came about," he said. "They are from a time when stories rather than science were used to explain matters. There is nothing remotely logical about them."

"And yet… I get the feeling you want to believe," Optimus observed. Nothing went amiss under such deep optics as his.

The storm-grey mech tilted his head in consideration, his optics distant. "I would like to think that Jazz's existence did not simply end when it did." He touched the side of his head with his fingertips. "I have my memories of him, so in a way, he does live. It is not the same, though. I find myself wishing for more."

Optimus' optics brightened fractionally. "Excuse me for saying so, but the revered Prowl wishes to believe in something that is not even "remotely logical"?"

A dry smile ghosted Prowl's faceplate. "Perhaps something like that."

Accepting such an answer, the Prime took great value in it. He knew first hand how difficult it could be to expand beyond one's own core programming, especially to give belief to something that, in most terms of logic, was highly unlikely, if not impossible. Something that no evidence in the universe existed for, except…

Optimus made a pensive humming noise as he considered what he was about to say next. Deciding that he might as well indulge, considering that giving this admittance may prove some comfort to Prowl, the Prime quietly intoned, "When I was first brought online, I was not programmed to believe in the Matrix, either."

Rather than be surprised by the news, Prowl nodded understandingly. "I did not think Sentinel Prime would program useless stories into your processor to cloud your judgement when you were created."

Optimus shook his head. "It was actually the Council who commissioned my creation. Sentinel, to say the least, was rather relieved to have a successor to mentor by the time he drew me from the Allspark." He smirked. "But you're right in assuming that I wouldn't have been programmed with 'useless stories'. I never even knew of them until vorns after my creation."

"I take it you know now."

"Yes, indeed," Optimus nodded assuredly. "When I was not training under Sentinel, I functioned in the archives under Iacon. There was an old record keeper there, Prima Bella, who used to tell me the stories as we worked." He smiled in fond memory of the past. "She told them as if they were real. I enjoyed listening to her, but never took them further than just stories."

Prowl gauged the Prime for a moment, and then cautiously asked, "What changed your mind?"

"Many things," the Prime admitted. His raised his hand to his spark. No, not his spark. He touched lower- where the Creation Matrix was integrated into his systems. "The biggest being the orn I first wielded the Matrix." His optics met Prowl's and the tactician was lost in the indescribable depths of blue light. "The first time I drew a spark from the Allspark, it _changed_ me."

Humbled by how raw and unreserved Optimus's admittance was, Prowl remained silent. With the Prime's words resonating heavily in the air, his normally powerful presence intensified.

Optimus regarded Prowl for a long moment, trying to decipher the look on the mech's faceplate. It was… _awe_. An alien expression not often seen on someone like Prowl, but Optimus took that as a form of encouragement. He trusted his tactician and knew that the knowledge he imparted on him would not be misused.

"There are few words to describe what it is like," the Prime intoned solemnly. "The first time you hold the Matrix, it is like you are holding a living being. There is something so innately alive about it, so strong… When it is connected to me… " he lost his words for a moment, and when he found them again, he said, "when it is inside me, I feel as if I am being granted a power that is… _incomprehensible_ in this world; something so vast and ancient that it has been around since the beginning of the universe." As he spoke, he felt that telltale rise of awareness inside him, the curious shift of energy that came whenever he thought of the artefact he carried. "The first time I held up the Matrix to the Allspark to drawn forth a spark, I was terrified that was I going to fail. I thought that somehow I would screw up and the Council would realize I was a fraud, yet the moment I held the Matrix up, I knew everything was going to be okay."

He remembered the orn with a clarity that frightened even him. Every time he brought up that defining orn, the details always seemed sharper. The colours were more vibrant. The power he felt coursing through every molecule of his frame became more electric. More alive. It was no ordinary orn he remembered.

"Like a key slipping into a lock, it just happened." Optics staring out into the dark expanse of the Lennoxs' yard, Optimus did not see a single detail of it. He was back on Cybertron now, reliving that moment. That singular, glorious moment when he stood in front of everyone, newly declared as Prime, and the Matrix came to full life in his hands. Power coursed down his arms, tingling through every circuit, dancing into his sparkcase to play with and embrace his spark. Truly, the Matrix had come to life, guiding his hands, bidding him to move, releasing the fear that had gripped his young spark in that moment. Ethereal light had arced between the Matrix and the Allspark, as a key fitting into a lock, and guided by some greater will, Optimus turned that lock and _connected_.

"What happened?" Prowl enquired, now engrossed in the memory.

"A door opened," the Prime stated reverently. It was the best metaphor he could use. "I could still see everything- the Allspark, the Matrix, everyone there to see if I could create a spark, but beyond that… I _felt_ it a door open. I felt as if I were standing in the doorway to somewhere else, yet I hadn't moved anywhere."

When he had looked at the Allspark, _really_ looked at it… something had looked back. There was no other way to describe it. It was not the Allspark, but something _else_. A presence that had charged the air, permeated the ground, and rose up in thick, rolling waves of awareness- an unseen, elemental force that was vast, and terrifyingly powerful. It had impinged on all his senses, filled him to the point where he lost himself in the storm, yet found himself in a warmth that could only be thought of as inherently _good_. Benevolence personified.

Standing on the threshold of his world and whatever Beyond the Allspark opened to, that great, terrible, wonderful presence imparted comfort that Optimus would never forget.

_It's okay. You can do it. Just reach out, and they'll reach back. _

"Bots say that I create sparks, but I don't. Standing there, staring at the Allspark, I realized all the sparks were already there, on the other side of the door. All I had to do was reach out…"

And he did. With his spark, he reached out. The Matrix burned like beacon in his hands. A tide rose up in his audios, like an endless crowd of voices whispering _welcome_. There had been one voice above the rest. A voice that whispered _I'm here. Take me. _Ribbons of light became like fingers, reaching out through the door, from the Allspark, to the Matrix, and slowly, as Optimus knew without thinking, he drew back. There before him formed a spark.

"It came to me. I didn't form anything. I didn't will anything into existence. The sparks were already there. In that moment when I reached out, someone on the other side took my hand."

Optimus stared down at his hands. The very hands that had held countless sparks. Hands that had reached beyond a veil and touched a place that no other living being had an inkling of.

"What happened that orn _changed_ me. Made me believe. Every time I was called to draw out a spark, I connected with that place, touched it, walked in it… That place where we come from, and where we return to. From that first orn on, I knew the Matrix was real because I had _seen_ it, and it was beautiful."

Prowl stared at Optimus's hands. What emotion that gripped him int hat very moment, he couldn't name it. Couldn't describe it. The honesty with which Optimus spoke. The rawness. The humbleness. Prowl, inexorably, found himself _believing_.

"M-may I see it?" His question shivered in the air. There was no question in the Prime's mind what he was asking for.

The seam along Optimus's chest clicked, hissed, and then sighed open. Prowl turned his optics down respectfully as the Prime's exposed spark flashed in the night. It was a sight that instilled deep vulnerability, yet overwhelming power. Strong, dark hands reached into that complex network and grasped a glittered artefact that appeared alien amongst the hardened metal and wires yet somehow exuded a presence that blended it as one with the frame. A firm pull, and the Matrix was released.

"This is it," Optimus murmured as his chest sealed.

"The Matrix," Prowl breathed reverently. Even in the dark of night, it glittered as if lit by some internal force. Even the air felt warmer around it, rippling. He had only ever seen it once, the orn Optimus had drawn a spark from the Allspark and it had been Prowl's. His memory of the artefact did not do it justice.

Of its own accord, Prowl's hand reached out, and then paused, frozen, in midair. He didn't know what he was reaching for.

Optimus stared intently at what he held between his hands. The last vestiges of their once-great world. As always, the humming life embedded in it coursed up his arms. In his audios, unformed whispers tickled.

And then something very _odd_ happened.

He caught a jolt up his arm. Electricity racing up it. Life. Awareness. He found himself moving without conscious thought, guided by an age old will. Subspace opened up, and from it came the last shard of the Allspark, strangely warm in his palm.

"Optimus?" Prowl asked unsurely, watching the Prime move with a single-minded intent that brought awareness prickling down his armour. This time, when he reached out, he knew what he was reaching for. The shard. The last remaining speck of the Allspark… Grasping it in his hands, he gasped, jerked, rocked by the tide of power that shot through him.

"There's someplace we need to be," Optimus murmured, so quietly that his voice was barely a whisper. The intensity of each word seemed to bring the night to life.

A dawning revelation was beginning to unfold in Prowl's head as he wondered over the tiny metal shard in his palm. He was standing without being aware of it, and in the span of a blink of an optic, he found himself kneeling in the dirt of the rickety barn. His spark seized in his chest as he gazed down at the frame lying dark and silent before him. He then looked to the shard in his hands.

This was not logical.

Nothing about this was logical.

A deeper part of him, a part he had long since thought dead since Jazz left, rose up and said, _It's okay. It's okay to be illogical sometimes. _

From behind him, the immense presence of the Prime shifted. Light flickered in the dimness, blue and ethereal. The air turned warm, electric. _Alive._ Guided by a knowing that was not quite his own, Optimus held the Matrix aloft as if he stood in the Emporium of the Allspark again, standing before the insurmountable presence of the Cube itself.

Prowl cried out as the shard grew hot in his hands. White hot. His optics were transfixed to the sight of it stuck to his palm. Not melted in place, but adhered there was some greater force. A fear unlike anything he had ever felt before raced through him. His spark was suddenly racing. Pulsing hard and fast and hot. Gravity felt as if it were tilting, drawing on his insides, pulling his spark out. Desperately, Prowl pulled back, growing more terrified by the moment as the pulling sensation grew stronger and stronger. His weaknesses forgotten, a sudden strength granted by abject panic hauled on his spark, frantic to keep in place as some greater force tried to steal it from him.

Jazz may have been dead, but Prowl suddenly found that he wanted to _live_.

He wanted to _live_, damn it!

Optimus gave a grunt. In his hands, the Matrix quivered. A test had been passed. Pressure released. Now a key slipped into a lock. Turned. A very small door wavered open, tiny and barely there. A familiar tide rushed up, voices of nameless others whispering _welcome_. How familiar it was, like greeting old friends, being welcomed home after a long absence. _Welcome_.

Prowl ceased his struggles. He _heard_ them. They sounded so… familiar. He was struck by a sense of impending action. He was supposed to do something. They were waiting. He was too terrified to move.

Behind him, Optimus Prime's voice rolled like an elemental power. Deeper and richer than any other voice in creation.

"It's okay. You can do it," he said. "Just reach out, and he'll reach back."

Trusting that voice, Prowl reached out. Reached into that place where they all came from, and where they all returned to.

_Finally, _something sighed. _Ah've been waitin' for ya. _

A tug came to Prowl's spark again. This time, he did not fear it. Primus, he'd been waiting for eons to feel that tug. To feel that presence. He held tight, grasped it as close as he dared, and pulled. Pulled with everything he had. There was resistance. It took effort. The spark fought to come through, fighting desperately against a hole too small for its vibrant, vast self.

"Jazz," Prowl chocked out, grasping the hand of the empty silver frame for support.

Time stopped for an instant.

A visible flash lit the night, heralding the entrance of a wild spark seemingly formed from nothing but the night and air. It hung suspended for the barest of astroseconds, staring at Prowl as Prowl stared back, and then it gracefully slid home through metal and wires into a sparkcase that had lain empty for too long.

Prime gasped as the hold of the Matrix released him. He staggered, nearly dropping it. Whatever connection had been made was now lost. The air tamed. Cooled. What remained of the Allspark ceased to glow in Prowl's hand. As the tactician held it frozen in midair, the shard visibly looked overcome by what last spark of greatness it achieved. Before their optics, it turned black and crumbled to ash.

Their fixated shock was quickly diverted as their resonance scanners sprung to life, picking up a third, painfully recognizable spark signature in the barn.

Prowl swung his gaze down, meeting a pair of optics that stared back at him with sheer puzzlement. Hydraulics groaned. Servos hissed. Parts clicked. Pumps beat. Energon began to circulate. Life hummed into every molecule of the silver frame. He groaned, pushing himself to sit up, one hand reaching out to trace the side of Prowl's openly gaping faceplate. The emotion that was suddenly striking the tactician was, for once, not an unpleasant one. In fact, as he watched those mouthplates move, listened as a single designation shivered melodiously in the air, it felt as if he would fly apart from joy.

"_P-Prowl?" _


	41. The Devil Comes to Call

My god, my head is still reeling from the response I got from last chapter. All of you who reviewed (especially those of you who reviewed twice), you are all shining stars. I'm humbled and flattered that each of you took a few minutes to write your thoughts. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. There are no words to say how grateful I am, and how close to tears I was brought to with some of your heartfelt words. Each and every one of you are shining stars in your own right. Thank you so much for the love and kindness you've shown.

**Kathrine**- Awwww, you were resigned to Jazz's death remaining permanent? That's so sad. :( Although, that resignation was exactly what I was going for. So many people have resurrected Jazz in their own way; I wanted to give the mech the show and attention he deserved- dead or alive. It's mind-blowing that he's _finally_ back.

**Chloo**- You are such an amazing reader/reviewer, you know that? I am beyond floored that you think me to be the G1 of fanfiction. That is high praise, indeed! And, of course, the raunchiness will always be included, as rare as it as of late. ^^; Occasional sex scenes brighten up the décor, don't you think? XD I'm glad to have delighted you so much with Jazz's resurrection. He and Prowl are pretty much a package deal… If Jazz didn't come to this plane, Prowl would surely follow him to the next. I thought it best to have two living mechs, rather than two dead. There is much Prowl/Jazz hotness for the future. ;P

**CuteKitten**- Thanks for the love on chapter 39. ^^; It was one of the least reviewed chapters in a while… -_- Oh, and thanks for the love on Sides. Could you expect less of him? XD And I promise you this; there is much to come of Sunstreaker and Moonfly. :) lol~ Such excitement over Jazz's coming back. I'm so happy to have made your day. Trust me, that is one scene that was not a dream, other than a dream come true.^^

**Anonymo_ose-** Oh wow, that's quite the excited rant you have going there. It took me a couple times reading it for everything to set in. ^^; Bringing back Jazz has been in the works for over two years- I'm just relieved to have finally brought it to fruition. I am absolutely thrilled that you enjoyed the sequence.

**C-Wolfeh**- lol~ It seems you have been struck speechless, my friend. ;P Thank you so much, though. I feel your excitement. :)

**FunkyFish1991**- Why am I not surprised that the majority of your review is for the Twins, and like 1/4 is reserved for the supposedly 'big part' of the chapter? XD I would expect nothing less of you, you crazed Twin fangirl you. I do so love your insanely-invested nerd-tastic analysis (and fawning) of them, though. You never cease to amaze me with the depth at which you are able to grasp their characters. Sometimes I wonder if you really haven't taken a walk on my mind before… Sunny will never be the innocent mech be used to be, but he's teetering on the precipice of becoming someone new. Even I don't know yet exactly what he'll become. As for the last quarter of your review- YAY, JAZZ IS BACK! 8D …and yes, apparently not liking shrinks is a universal thing. As far as you know.

**Kittisbat**- lol~ I love your thoughts on matter- 'yay, they doomed their species, but so what? Jazz is back!' XD An interesting twist on optimism. You're so right, though. Every moment in time leads to another, and with this there is no exception.

**Elita One**- Sunny will have to find something else to occupy his time.

**Bluebird Soaring**- lol~ Your excitement is making me grin. XD It was quite the task to keep this under wraps for 39 chapters, so it's a relief to finally have it out in the open. With Prowl and Prime and everyone involved… it all just flowed from my fingertips. It was a very strange experience letting everything just _happen_… If anything, I'm happy to have WOWed you with chapter 40. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story just as much.

**SternEase**- Goodness, it's been forever and a half since I've heard from you, my friend! And may I say, after wondering for so long if you abandoned the story, your review is a balm that practically made me cry when I read it. Bringing back Jazz, thought I've been planning it for years, was one of those things I was actually nervous about. Your enthusiasm over the methods, thinking that 'this is how it should be', is the biggest compliment ever. Thank you so much~ Bringing back Jazz was the last of the _Loki Lands_ arc, so I bet with the appearance of this chapter, you're relieved, right? I hope you enjoy~ There is much more in store for everyone as this story climbs closer to the climax.

**Independent C**- *whistle* Two reviews? That is some impressive dedication, my friend. I can't seem to get even _one_ out of most people. XD Don't let Sideswipe get to you too much, my friend. He plans future mischief because he knows it's inevitable that he'll be in it. He's sensitive enough to know to hold off for an appropriate time, but not forever. As for Jazz and what is to become of him… you'll just have to decide for yourself if he comes back from the dead different.

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- Thank you so much for your assessment of the chapter. I, too, think it was one of my stronger chapters. Good thing it is, since it's also one of the milestones of the story. Character development is one of my addictions, my friend. I have one-shots dedicated to nothing more than expanding a character for WE. If anything, be prepared for much more as Sunstreaker's and Virus's paths cross again, and as everyone else tries to piece themselves back together again. Once again, thank you so much. You're review was inspiring. :)

**BadDogg**- Awww, you're too kind! I'm over the moon that you enjoyed the chapter so much!

**GoldenDreams257**- Thank you so much~!

**AsakuraX**- You may have an odd reading style, but if it works for you, than who is anyone to stay it is wrong? So long as you enjoy what you read and how you are reading it, that's all that matters. ^_^ Thank you so much for the encouragement, I'll be sure to continue writing. ^^

**Ragnarok347**- My goodness, I don't know whether to say you're very welcome for the chapter, or to thank you dearly for such wonderful compliments. I'm flattered that you enjoy my characterizations for the bots. They each have been their own delight in writing. To hear that others enjoy them just as much makes writing worth it. ^^ I am doubly happy that you enjoyed the chapter itself. Thank you so much for the review. :)

**Cynthia**- Goodness, you are an absolute sweetheart for reviewing twice~! You made my day twice as bright by such a simple little thing. I thank you so much for your kind words. I'm so happy that you enjoyed the chapter- bringing back Jazz was a long time coming.

**Thing With No Talent**- The Twins are becoming somewhat of a specialty of mine. Writing their evolution in Surface of the Sun, in their one-shots, as well as throughout the main WE works has been a delight, and it is always gratifying to know that others find their portrayals appropriate. As well, it's interesting that you find yourself relating to Prowl's views of the afterlife, seeing as his have certainly changed in light of recent events.

**Balrog Roike**- Thanks so much, my friend. That really means a lot. The chapter certainly was intense in many ways.

**Starrie Wolf**- My friend, one thing to know is that any form of review, signed in or not, is still welcomed here. It is the reviews that are the inspiration for the writing. :) Jazz's resurrection has been in the works for over two years, but I did my best through the writing to make it seem as if it were impossible. The effect of making it darkest before the light always makes the light more brilliant, don't you think? Jazz/Prowl are one of my fave couples as well, which is why I have even begun a separate story for them, lol~ But to know J/P is you OTP, yet you could see Sunny/Prowl manifesting- that is a huge compliment in and of itself. I'm humbled. Thank you~

**Pandora**- You are so very welcome~ Prowl and Jazz are two of my favourite characters- they're pretty much a package deal. ;P I'm happy to have brightened your day with Jazz's resurrection.

**Phoenix13**- I do believe you are right, Prowl is much in need of a snuggle and a sob… now if only he'd take that advice. ^^; Perhaps Jazz will be able to make him indulge? As for Elita… her time to shine is quickly approaching. :)

**Lecidre**- Awwwwww, you're so very sweet, my friend~ If I could package up all my adoration for you into a box and send it to Taiwan, I would do it in a heartbeat. *hugs* Having Jazz back will be a big help for a lot of bots, won't it? Not only will Prowl no longer have to mourn his lover, but the Twins no longer have to feel guilty about pranking, the Autobots have back their saboteur… *happy sigh* Everyone's happy. :) I'm glad that the chapter itself made your weekend. I was definitely aiming to uplift a few spirits with it. ^_^

**K.K.C**- Never fear hitting the review button, even if you have no idea what you want to say. Even a little bit of love is better than nothing. :) I'm honoured that you like my writing style so much. It's hard to imagine I have a 'style' since, well, I've always written this way, but if I tickle the fancy of another, then it's all worth it, isn't it? :) The fact that you see the story playing out in your head… that's just wow~ You must have some fantastic imagination! ^_^ Thank you so much for reviewing, your words were inspiring.

**The Toe of Sauron**- *hands over a tissue* Tears are nothing to be ashamed of, my friend. :)

**Lady Tecuma**- The Twins' evolution is quickly becoming a fave of mine to write. It's great that you're enjoying it as well. :) As for Prowl… I think he'll always be a glitch, but with Jazz now around, he'll be less of one. ^^;

Special shout out to the fabulous and always enthusiastic **Chloo**, who was my 700th reviewer! This chapter is dedicated to you~!

Special thanks so friends and inspiration alike- **FunkyFish1991, Litahatchee, Buunylass, Lecidre, SylentNyte**, and **Violetlight**.

**As We Come Together  
In Which ****the Devil Comes to Call**

"You're no fun to play with anymore."

Elita tensed, her optics darting about the darkness uselessly. She saw nothing. Why did she even bother trying anymore? She couldn't see in the dark, not since Nightbeat did whatever he did to her so that the Fallen's fires were gone. Not even when her optics were closed did she fire.

"Where are you?" the femme called, and then flinched. She was inside the beast- why ask where he was when she knew he was _everywhere_.

An annoyed sigh drifted from the unknown. It sounded like it came from everywhere. "See? That's one of the reasons you're no fun to play with anymore." There was a pause. "Oh, never mind, you wouldn't see. That's the point! You _can't_ see."

Elita frowned, optics narrowing at nothing. "That's not my doing." Frankly, it was a bit of a blessing she didn't have to see him anymore. She'd trade fires for the haunting symphony in her head any orn.

"No, but it certainly makes you a pit of a lot less interesting." And for Psi, being interesting meant a lot. If something wasn't interesting, why bother with it?

Elita stopped trying to pin down a direction to glare in. Instead, she gathered what was left of her wits and settled in for the torture session that was undoubtedly about to take place. Not about to be a passive subject this time around, she said, "Why don't you find something else to amuse yourself with? You're smart, I'm sure you can figure something out."

There was a brief silence, as if the Fallen couldn't quite believe he was being spoken in such a manner, and then he laughed. "Now, why would I do something like that, little pet? It would take too long to break another spark in," Psi jeered.

"Oh yes, because I'm about as broken as they come," the femme growled, hand grasping the front of her chassis, over her mutated spark.

"All too true," Psi said, suddenly deciding that this Elita One was far more interesting than she was before. There was fire in her optics now, flames smouldering in her voice. Best of all, she could _hear_ him now. "However," he purred, savouring the fact that every word spoken resonated deep in the femme's core. Shockwave had never been so interesting. "Just because you can't see in the dark anymore doesn't mean I can't have fun with you. I merely have to come up with _new_ ways to play."

Elita curved her mouthplates up, but it wasn't a smile. It was more like a sneer. "And here I was hoping you'd simply forget about me. Got my hopes up." She had so very few hopes left.

Another high, cruel laugh resounded off the walls. "Oh no, I would never forget _you_, my pet. You've been too much of a delight these past eons. One of my few true joys in this boring existence of mine. I do look forward to our little trysts."

"So glad I could bring you joy," Elita spat, finding the sound of her voice didn't sound quite like her own. Her fists clenched, hackles rising. In a split astrosecond, she realized what she was feeling- _anger_. She hadn't felt angry in a long time. Hadn't felt much of anything really. Anger felt good right about now. If only she could do something about it. Verbal barbs were all she had.

The Fallen frigid, unseen gaze bored into her from all sides. He sensed her fury, finding the tang of it delicious. He sought to taste more. "You've been a very naughty little pest while I wasn't looking, now haven't you? You didn't think I'd notice, but I did. I always do."

Elita struggled to control the excess of growing rage building in her chest. She needed to remain calm so as to not give the beast his satisfaction. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?"

She glared into the darkness. _"You're_ usually the bad one, not me."

_"Touché."_

Elita smirked humourlessly, banked fired smouldering in her optics. Primus, who would have known that anger could make you feel so _alive_? "You're not here for witty banter, Fallen. I've spent eons inside you without hearing a word. What's got you so talkative all of a sudden?"

A cold spike lanced through her, causing her whole frame to shudder. There was arrogance infused into that blast of frigidness, paired with spite and unrivalled malevolence. By now, such feelings were familiar. It was the essence of the beast lacing through her. Cold pin pricks and the feel of icy claws snaking down her. She knew his moods, feeling his twisted delight.

"It's not that _I_ am more talkative, my dear." The endearment was laced with poison. "It is that _you_ can suddenly hear much better than before. Interesting, yes?"

Elita snorted, crossing her arms over her chassis. Without thought to consequence, she let banked anger fuel her words. "Really now? I can't quite hear you yet. Mind speaking a little louder?" She did not sound at all like herself, yet it felt good.

"Of course, pest." A blast of frigidness was all the warning she got before a piercing tone assaulted her; a loud, agonizing single-tone shriek that hurt like physical claws ripping into her. It only lasted for a moment, but the intensity had her curling into herself. Her hands over her audios did nothing to muffle the shriek. It drowned out everything, even the energon-curdling scream wrenched from her. In the aftermath, she was left hollow and shuddering inside.

"How was that? Can you hear me now?" Psi wondered gleefully. The sight of her curled into a ball, her arms wrapped tight around her head, was sheer bliss.

"_You monster,"_ she gasped. If she wasn't so accustomed to pain, the attack probably would have hurt a lot more.

"That's the least of all the things I've been called," Psi laughed. "I could get used to this hearing thing- so much potential! Don't you agree?" Elita didn't dare answer. Psi did not like her silence one bit. "I asked if you agreed." Once more the piercing shriek erupted through the bowls, sending Elita writhing across the floor. Her screams nearly shorted out her long-abused vocal processor, but reprieve came when Psi ended the torture.

"Yes, yes, I do believe this is _far_ more fun than standing around staring at you for joors at a time" he professed happily. "I get so much more of a reaction this way."

Elita let out a groan, the tension in her frame releasing as her strength drained away. Should the Fallen decide to shriek, for lack of a better term, at her again, she wouldn't have the strength to try and block. She'd just have to hope it didn't scramble her processor. She stared blindly into the darkness hoping that her pain had been enough of a show to satisfy the Fallen. Maybe he was gone.

No such luck.

In fact, he was even more entertained than he had been an astrosecond ago. Who knew interacting with someone other than Shockwave could be so much _fun?_ "If I knew a toy like you could be such a treat, I would have given you the gift myself long ago just to enjoy you more."

Unable to pick herself up, Elita glared into nothingness from the floor. "This is hardly a gift," she spat. Her head throbbed so painfully that whatever her wonderful new companions were singing, she couldn't hear a peep of it. There was only the dead ringing in her head.

"Ah, but someone thought it was," Psi purred. "Things like this don't just happen. _Someone_ must have thought it a pleasant little gift to pass along. And then they passed it to someone else, and they passed to it someone else, and, surprisingly, they passed it to someone else! And now you are the pawn playing on a field much bigger than you can ever imagine. Doesn't that make you feel special?"

"Hardly," Elita growled.

"Come now, you ungrateful little twit," Psi admonished in a sickeningly cheerful tone. "You've been blessed with access to what some would _kill_ for. You are privy to the sounds of the very fabric of the universe moving. Do you have even an inkling of grandness you are in possession of? The immensity?"

"Right now, all I hear is you. For that, I'd rather be deaf."

Again, the Fallen gave on of his terribly mocking, indulgent laughs. "If I had a spark, you might have hurt it."

Elita glared, scowling fiercely. Primus, she wished there were something about the Fallen she could hurt.

Psi hummed a little, his interior vibrating for a moment. "Of course, if you want to be deaf, I can arrange that."

The words slid like cold, slimy oil down Elita's plating. Something about the delight in the monster's voice, the double entendre he delivered in the undercurrent...

"Oh yes, little pet. If you want deafness, I'll give you the package deal." He would take away everything. Not only the Order, but _everything_. It would be no stretch to steal all sound from Elita's memories so all she would have was silent pictures. That sounded fun, actually.

'_No.' _She tried to say the word- whisper it, hiss it- but her vocal processor was too stressed to work. The Fallen meant to take everything away, including her one connection to Optimus. What he called the movement of the universe, she called… well, she didn't have a word for it. Whatever it was, it allowed her to reach out and feel her bonded out there as if he were close again. That's all that matter. If her gift was taken away, so too would Optimus. She wouldn't be able to reach him anymore, feel him, connect with him... _'Please, no.' _

"I'll need to slip into something a little more comfortable for this…"

Cold grey light suddenly flooded the cell. It was not normal light; there was no source, nor were there shadows. It was bright enough to momentarily blind Elita with its sudden appearance, yet dim enough that it did not reach beyond the force field of her cell. The femme blinked a few times, wondering if she had finally crossed the threshold into madness. Maybe the light was all in her head. But no, it was real. It was a pity that the Fallen seemed the one monster of lore indifferent to light.

Forcing her head up, Elita squinted into the shadows beyond. The churning thing in her sparkcase that served as her spark gave a dull tremor, fear starting to take hold of it. From the shadows bobbed a dot of yellow light, unseeing and unblinking. A drone. Transfixed to the sight, Elita watched as the small point of light gave a jerk, and then curiously the optic changed from yellow to deep, molten amber. Without a moment's hesitation, the drone stepped _through_ the force field.

"There now- not exactly comfortable, but beggars can't be choosers, now can they?" the Fallen announced from the mouthplates of the drone. "Shockwave always did have a way with construction… very efficient frame, yes? Not a wasted bolt in sight."

Elita groaned, futilely trying to push herself away.

Psi watched her with a gleam in his optic. If he found it odd hat he was inside a frame that was inside his monster-sized frame, he showed no concern. "No, no, don't get up, my pet. I'll come to you."

In desperation, Elita managed to shove herself back an arm length. The effort was enough to make it feel as if her arms would fall off. Though she couldn't explain the deranged fear that was building with every step the Fallen towards her, it was a deep-seated instinctual drive to get away. To her core, she knew he meant no good. If he managed to do what he wanted… No one had to tell her that the outcome would be very, very _bad_.

He crouched in front of her, grinning madly. "One touch, little glitch, and this will all be over."

'_No-no-no!' _All but screaming out loud, Elita did everything in her power to duck away from those incoming hands. _'Don't touch me! Don't do it!'_

And then Psi froze. That single glowing amber optic snapped wide.

Elita stared, heaving ice-cold air through her vents like a trapped animal. The Fallen did not move, frozen like a statue as the drone's optic focused and unfocused rapidly.

"_How very, very curious…"_ he murmured. He stood without warning, throwing a flurry of rust into the air. His head swung to the left in a 180 arc, too far around for the gesture not to be supernaturally assisted. He stared at the interior wall of himself, quite possibly seeing straight through it. Something had his complete and undivided attention. _"Impossibly curious…" _ Psi then swung his head back and stared down at Elita with an expression she couldn't, and didn't want to, read. The amber of his optic seemed to glow brighter, a wild storm reflecting in the crystalline depths.

"Excuse me. Something interesting just happened."

The drone's optic turned yellow as it crashed to the floor. The Fallen's consciousness was gone.

* * *

Jazz stared down at his hands as if he couldn't believe they were hands. Or maybe he just couldn't believe they were _his_ hands. Pit, he couldn't really decide what he was thinking as he stared, only that he was staring at a pair of four-fingered hands; dark metal on the palms, painted silver on the top. Familiar hands. Hands that were attached to a pair of arms that were his, which were attached to a torso that was his, which housed a spark that was… _his._

But that spark hadn't been there before.

In fact, that spark hadn't been in its sparkcase for a long time. Too long. It had been… elsewhere. He didn't know where.

Had he really been dead?

**Dead.**

That's what everyone kept telling him. He, Jazz, saboteur extraordinaire, had been dead.

Damn it, he hated that word. Dead. Dead. Dead. He didn't like it one bit. Yet all his thoughts revolved around it. He couldn't escape it.

The hands he had been staring at for the last few breems moved of their own accord to his torso, coming to rest on the long scar that bisected his frame. The evidence of where Megatron had ripped him in two. It was sore to the touch. Everything in that area was sore. The weld was sore. His insides were sore. It felt as if he had been taken apart, rearranged, and stuck back together with hot glue and nails. Ratchet had been done reconstructive repairs for weeks, but everything felt as if the welding torch had just been taken off it. His frame felt _raw_.

The spark now pulsing inside Jazz's chassis was the cause of it all. The spark made the metal alive again, energizing his dormant frame and jumpstarting his self-repair programs. His spark, that wonderful, strange glowing ball of energy in his sparkcase, was reversing the physical mark of death. Damn if that didn't hurt like a glitch.

Other marks of death- that frozen moment in time between Megatron ripping him apart and coming online with Prowl's faceplate barely a breath away from his own- were not so easily erased. He wouldn't get back that missing chunk of his life. That was gone forever.

Jazz shuttered his optics, bent his head, and then opened his optics to stare directly at the long, carefully welded scar blaring like a neon sign across his abdomen. He traced the jagged line with the tips of his claws, ignoring the hot stroke of pain that flashed through him. No, _ignored_ was a bad word. He wasn't ignoring the pain. He was… accepting it. Feeling pain meant he was alive. The pain of healing, the pain of moving, the slight discomfort of his spark pulsing against a sensitive scar in the corner of his sparkcase… it all meant that he was alive.

Alive. Not dead. Not in that void of time where he had no recollections. No thought. No plans. No control. No memories.

They told him he had been dead, but he didn't remember. That part, the not remembering, scared him. Had he simply ceased to be? Had he been nothing for all this time?

Jazz dropped his hand and shuddered with the mere thought of being _nothing_. Yet somehow he was back in the land of the living. If he had been nothing, how had he come back? How does one come back from being nothing?

A sudden flash of light played before his mind's optic, followed by the feeling of someone reaching out, and of Jazz reaching back…

Grunting, the silver mech shook the odd thought from his head. Where the pit did that come from? He shouldn't linger on such useless imaginings. It was time to get his mind in order. Start working away from this mess. He was _Jazz_ after all! He had a reputation to live up to, and coming back from the dead was only going to make that reputation even greater. Dead or alive, he wasn't about to let anything else take him by surprise. It was best to sort everything out now, put everything in order. Start from the top and work his way down. Yes, that's exactly what he was going to do. A little thing like death wasn't going to stop him from being at the top of his game, ahead of everyone else.

Searching for the moment where his memories started up again, Jazz found the moment his optics opened again. Prowl had been there. Optics wide, mouthplates agape. And then Prime had been there, looming above them, looking as in shock as Prowl had been. Bumblebee appeared not long after all, Arcee in his arms as they clamoured through the low doors of the rickety barn.

A sound like thunder had rolled through the night as Ironhide and Chromia picked up on the extra spark signature and came running. The haste with which they came abreast of the barn nearly sent the structure down around everyone's ankles. Their harried appearances only added to the bizarre urgency taking hold of the rest of the Cybertronians. Ratchet and Wheeljack were alerted and they came tearing through the woods in their alt mode, ripping through anything in their path as they rocketed along. All the faceplates sort of blurred together for those first few disorientating moments.

Above it all, Jazz remembered the Prime kept saying something about the Allspark. The last shard was gone. Blackened and turned to ash…

Things spun out of control after that. The only thing that stood out was the way they had all looked at him.

His mind raced, vomiting back up the memorized expression of each Autobot who had come to stand before him and stare. There was shock and awe on everyone's faceplate. It wasn't the kind of awe he used to getting when he did something that no other Autobot dared to do. This was a kind of awe that unnerved him, something he wasn't in control of, something he knew wasn't right to take credit for. He remembered seeing other emotions, too. Confusion. Unease. Suspicion. Fear.

In some of their optics, Jazz saw questions he wasn't comfortable to think about, nor even dare answer.

_Jazz? ...Jazz?...Is it really you?…Are you okay? …How to do you feel? …What was it like? …Did you see anything? …Did you see the Matrix? …Did you see Primus? _

…_Are you real? _

…_Are you Jazz?_

Questions they asked with their optics because they didn't dare say them out loud.

Jazz growled, shuttering his optics. His hands fell to the frozen earth, clenching into fists so tight that they ploughed the dirt. Of course he was real. He was damned real. He was Jazz! All of him was Jazz! His memories were all of Jazz's. His spark felt like Jazz's. His resonance signature was Jazz's. He was real. He was Jazz.

Or, at least, he _hoped_ he was.

Primus, he hoped he was Jazz or he was going to be sick.

Not there'd be anything in his tanks to purge if he was sick, because he'd been dead. Dead mechs didn't have anything in their tanks.

Shaking his head, Jazz determinedly opened his optics, raised his visor, and stared at the dying night sky. The moon was a dull haze of grey. The stars were pinpricks of dim, blinking out as dawn slowly approached. He stared so hard into the pre-dawn blackness he could have sworn the night stared back. He blinked and the feeling was gone.

"Don't let meh be crazy as well," Jazz sighed, once again closing his optics. Ratchet had miraculously given him a clean bill of health. Everything had checked out. All his systems were in working order. Let his mind be spotless, too. So what if his sanity had always been in question? It had always worked for him. Out of everything he was missing, at least let his mind be the one thing he still had. It was one of the only worthwhile things he had ever had.

For all the faceplates he'd looked into tonight, he very well could have been the sanest one of all.

They'd all been sick. Tired. Broken. In many ways, Jazz knew they were worse off than he ever was. Optimus Prime, with his too-deep, constantly-haunted optics; Ironhide and Chromia, desperate to hold on to each other even as they felt the world slipping away; Ratchet, who had lost one too many patients; Arcee, whatever the frag was wrong with her; Wheeljack and his wavering sanity... With just a look, Jazz had stared them all to the core and didn't like what he saw.

Worst of all had been Prowl.

Sick. Pathetic. Broken. Prowl. The tactician may have been staring at him like Jazz was the ghost, but Prowl looked more dead than alive than Jazz ever did. It broke the saboteur's spark to see what his Prowl had become. It also made him a little sick. Prowl had always been so strong. Unbreakable. Unmoveable. Unwavering. Yet now he was broken. He wasn't Prowl anymore.

It had been Prowl's unblinking staring that had finally driven Jazz from everyone's company. As much as it pained him to think it, Prowl was the reason he was in the middle of the woods right then. Alone. That little lingering fear of being alone was shoved into a very dark place while Jazz absorbed the night and the quiet and chill of the air, content not to be treated as a god and monster at the same time.

It was only a small consolation to know his smooth-talking skills were still in tact. He could still talk his way in to or out of anything. Sure, it had taken him until nearly dawn to get what he wanted, but who ever said persistence never paid off? As soon as Ratchet relented to letting the saboteur out of his sight, the rest melted out of the way. They'd left him to his thoughts, whatever those could be. Jazz was just grateful to be alone. Away from them. Away from questions he couldn't answer. Away from stares that unnerved him. Away from Prowl.

Sitting bolt straight, Jazz registered a spark signature on his scanners coming closer. Prowl. _Damn it._

Too focused on the tactician drawing near, Jazz failed to notice as the greying sky shift oddly. For a moment, it didn't quite look like the sky at all. Then it was gone. So was Prowl's spark signature. Movement in the trees halted for a moment, and then continued. A strange wariness crept through Jazz as he realized Prowl's spark signature had yet to return to sensors.

A painfully familiar storm-grey head appeared through the thick, snow-dusted branches; a faceplate whose details Jazz had long-since memorized turned towards him. The air in the clearing, once fresh and crisp, turned stale. It left a dry, bitter taste in Jazz's mouthplates. Coming into the small clearing, Prowl smirked, _smirked_, and swaggered over. Without waiting for an invitation, he dropped to the ground next to Jazz and sprawled out in a very un-Prowl-like way. It was the optics that got Jazz, though. They weren't the sickly yellowish hue of a long-term energizer user. Instead, they were pure amber. One of the few colours a Cybertronian could _not_ set for their optics. The look in them was pure malevolence; a look the real Prowl was incapable of having.

The stranger met Jazz's gaze with a delight that wasn't right on Prowl's faceplate, examining Jazz as if he were some kind of very rare, very wonderful prize. A too-wide smile crawled across Prowl's mouthplates. "Nice night out, don't you think?" it asked, turning to watch the sky with the same disturbingly focused attention. The voice that came from Prowl's mouthplates was eloquent and smooth, such a perfect lulling poison. It set Jazz on edge.

"Who are you?" Jazz asked immediately. For a bare astrosecond, he worried that he truly was going as crazy as he feared. Maybe death truly had addled his mind. Yet a stronger instinct rose up and said this was real. Real and dangerous. Trusting that his instincts hadn't dulled with death, Jazz eased back on his arms, watching the being who was currently taking a walk in his lover's frame.

The stranger didn't acknowledge Jazz's question. Instead, he continued to watch the sky. "Yes, a very nice night, indeed. It'll be a nice day today, too. Sunny, I think."

Jazz frowned, unwilling to do more than that lest he give too much away too soon. "Ah asked a question," he said.

Finally, that amber gaze was turned on him. "I heard you."

"And?"

"You already know me," Not-Prowl intoned smoothly. A smile followed those words, but there was no warmth in the gesture. It was elegance encased in ice.

Jazz frowned, optics narrowing. "You're not Prowl."

"No, I'm not," Not-Prowl chuckled. "Smart one, aren't you?"

"Just observant," Jazz replied evenly.

"That you are," Not-Prowl nodded. He ran his hands down his chassis, then up over his faceplate, briefly covering those blazing amber optics. He must have really liked what he felt, for he laughed and grinned as he did so.

"Who are you?_"_ Jazz posed again, this time more forcefully, finding himself impatient with the imposter. Too many strange things had already happened tonight for Jazz to handle more in good graces.

Finally, the stranger stopped feeling up Prowl's frame. Adopting a smile that had no place on Prowl's faceplate, it said, "They call me the devil."

"Liar," Jazz snorted. Being resurrected wasn't enough? He had to be accosted by alien personifications of evil, too? Could this night get any worse?

The devil grinned wider. "They call me that as well."

Wise enough to let the subject drop for now, Jazz was careful to give nothing away- no smile, no frown, not out-of-place movement. He was the one at the disadvantage here, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do his damndest to come out on top. He established himself by looking away, putting on an air of nonchalance that announced he saw no threat in the stranger wearing his lover's frame. "As ya like, then."

This, apparently, was the right move to make. The imposter stared for a moment, frowning when Jazz's reaction was not the reaction he wanted. He looked away, directing his gaze to the sky.

"You don't seem very unnerved to have the devil taking a jaunt in your friend's frame," the stranger intoned.

Jazz suppressed the twisted little smirk that wanted to curl onto his faceplate. If the creature was asking questions, it meant that Jazz was in control. "Ah just came back from the dead, so excuse meh if Ah'm a little jaded ta the impossible."

The devil laughed, amber optics glinting. "Yes, of course. I can't say I've ever been dead, but I've heard it has a way of jading souls, or sparks in your case." There was a moment's pause, and then the devil said, "I would have thought you would at least be curious as to _why_ I'm here. Why I'm in this frame, out of all my choices here."

Jazz let his visor drop, taking some comfort in the minor shield it gave him. He sacrificed some standing with the devil, letting the creature know he was in need of such protection, but the game between them was just beginning. The devil, or whoever this stranger might be, did not come all this way to chat. Jazz was determined to win whatever kind of game was being played.

"The only significant event ta happen here that might draw your interest is meh comin' back. Since you're here with meh instead of with anybody else, it makes sense that you're here for meh." Jazz dared to tip a sharp smirk at the Prowl-imposter. "An' that frame you're in… It was the weakest one- the most vulnerable ta allow ya ta hop a spot in driver's seat. Ya think it's a bonus that the mech who lives in the frame used ta be mah lover."

The devil clapped his hands, the sound of applause ringing cold and mocking off the trees. "I'm impressed. That talent of yours always made you a favourite of mine."

Jazz inclined his head, accepting the admission even though he was unable to decide if it was a compliment or insult when it came from the devil. He faced Not-Prowl, looking the frame over, and every detail about it was wrong. It wasn't Prowl. "So, ya say you're the devil…"

"That I am." His optics glinted gleefully.

"If Ah got mah myths right-," and he did, since he was currently downloading every available piece of information on the devil- "ya used ta be some kind of creature called an angel. Your name was Lucifer." Jazz frowned. "You fell from Grace."

"You know the story," purred the devil, again too-delighted to be anything but bizarre on Prowl's faceplate. "How wonderful."

The saboteur shrugged. "Ah also know some stories from mah own planet."

This garnered an excited flash from the being inside Prowl, his whole frame leaning forward. "Do continue."

"There was another fallen figure on Cybertron."

"Was there?" the devil asked, grinning.

"He was one of 13 figures, but he chose ta turn his back on them. We don't call him the devil. We call him the Fallen" Jazz locked optics with the imposter's poisonous amber gaze, making it clear that he knew exactly what kind of monster he was speaking with.

With the charade now up, the Fallen clapped his hands again. Still, the noise sounded mocking. "Well done! I wondered how long it would take you." In a move faster than what Jazz could track, the Fallen reached out and gripped his faceplate, turning it one way and then the other, inspecting Jazz deeper than any scan ever could. "I wondered if death had dulled that brilliant mind of yours, my pet."

Jerking out of the monster's grasp, Jazz snorted. "Ah'm as sharp as Ah was the orn Ah died. An' Ah ain't anyone's _pet_."

"Not that you know of," the monster purred. "Who's to say I haven't pulled a string or two for you in the past?"

Jazz let that drop, knowing the spectre was just looking for a reaction. Instead, he asked, "If ya really are the Fallen-,"

"Which I am."

"-what are ya doin' so far from Cybertron?"

"I have business here," the Fallen replied airily. "Important business."

"On an organic mudball?" Jazz asked sceptically.

"One never knows where the tides of fate will lead. Some would say my business here is destiny to others." Again, a deceivingly airy answer. The eloquence of his philosophical wonderings was like the sheep's skin for the wolf underneath.

Jazz inclined his head. "Am Ah part of that business?"

The Fallen laughed, disturbing several sleeping animals from their roosts. "No. You, dear little pest, are a little bit of chaos thrown into a perfect plan. A very fine wrench in the works, indeed."

"Are ya here to kill meh to fix 'The Plan'?"

"I thought about it, but no. You're better off alive, for the moment."

"Then what do ya want?"

"Ah, see, I need something done, and I can't exactly do it myself." The Fallen sat up and adopted a pleading look that was ruined by his lying optics, placing a mocking hand to his spark in fake-sincerity. "Seeing as you're alive and well, and I've done so much for you in the past, I'm coming to collect. That won't be a problem, now will it?"

"Ah never knew Ah was in your debt," Jazz sneered.

"Ignorance is no excuse."

Jazz glared. "What is it ya want from meh?"

The Fallen lounged back. "Nothing much. Nothing you couldn't handle of course. It's just a _little _favour, really." He smiled. "It would help me out a great deal."

"It would help if Ah knew what it was." Jazz didn't smile in return.

"I need you to interface with something."

Jazz inclined his head. "Something? Not someone?"

"A frame, an old boss of yours really."

A flash of ice froze Jazz's insides. "Megatron." Someone had mentioned that Megatron was dead, his framed holed up in the _Loki_ somewhere in the woods. Taking a moment to let the horror die, Jazz enquired darkly, "What do you need me to steal from his processor?"

The Fallen laughed. "I don't need anything. I just want you to interface with the frame, that's all. Simple, yes?"

"An' if Ah refuse?"

Smiling widely, the Fallen drew Prowl's weapon and levelled the barrel to the side of Prowl's head. "This won't hurt _me _a bit. Your lover, however..."

There was no disguising the sudden jolt of distress that roared through the silver mech. He bolted up, attempting to smack the weapon away. The Fallen was much faster, and was expecting such a mortal move. Jazz ended up flying into a tree without even knowing how he'd been batted away so easily. His moment of weakness cost him dearly, because now the Fallen had the advantage.

Sauntering over, the beast crouched before Jazz and took his faceplate in hand, holding it too tight. He spoke evenly, as if he hadn't just thrown a mech across a clearing. "I'm not asking a big favour here. I'm not even asking some terrible task. Be reasonable, Jazz- all you need to do is interface with that itty bitty corpse and I'll leave you and your little broken lover here alone. Just make the deal and I'm gone. Promise."

"Why me?" the saboteur snarled.

"Because you're not like the others."

Jazz scowled as best he could while his faceplate was being crushed. "Ah'm an Autobot, as all o' them are."

The Fallen leaned in, placing Prowl's forehead to Jazz's. "Are you really? Because when I look at you, that's not what I see." A wash of intense power hit him, and then Jazz's optics flashed. He could see the change in ambient glow against the inside of his visor. Blue to red. As soon as the Fallen leaned away, his optics returned to blue. "You're not like anyone here, Jazz. You're _different._ You always liked a little bit chaos, so bringing in a little more shouldn't be much of a problem."

"Ya want this real bad, don't ya? Sinkin' down ta some dead mech's level," Jazz sneered, digging his claws into Prowl's forearms.

The Fallen snarled, his grip on Jazz's faceplate tightening until it felt like the metal was buckling. "Don't test my patience, pest."

"Ah get it, ya need meh," the silver mech hissed, struggling to get out from the monster's vice grip. "But how about ya give meh somethin' in return, 'cause Ah ain't buying that debt stuff."

"And what would you ask for? Power? Invulnerability? Immortality?" the Fallen hissed. "What could a speck like you possibly want?"

"Fix Prowl," Jazz spat.

Surprised, the Fallen jerked away. "Is _that _all?"

Jazz cracked the joints in his faceplate back into place. "Yes."

Stepping back a few paces, the Fallen adopted a look of contemplation. He hummed, tapping his chin, watching Jazz the same way an expert chess player measured their chess pieces. When he came to his decision, the glee that lit up the beast's optics was enough to make Jazz sick. He extended a hand to the saboteur, grinning. "Very well, I accept your terms."

Jazz stared at the hand, careful about how he was going to word his next sentence. "Ah agree ta stick my interface cable in Megatron's frame's port, an' you agree ta fix Prowl so he's alive but not hurtin' anymore. That's the terms."

"Of course, my pet. No more. No less."

"All right… ya have a deal." Jazz reached out to touch his hand to the monster's. The Fallen's grip turned to steel, dragging them together until their frames pressed from foot to forehead. In that moment, Jazz felt coldness spread through him. Ice spread through his energon, frosted his metal, and froze his spark. A mark of the beast colder than death itself had been.

Prowl's optics flashed amber, and then they were blue. _Pure blue_. Not even a speck of ochre tint to be seen. His faceplate went slack, blank. A great rush of tension released. Not even a stain of energizer lingered on his faceplate. He lost his footing on the icy ground, but Jazz held him tight. The saboteur's visor snapped up, his optics searching Prowl's. Above them, the grey sky wavered for a moment, and then righted itself.

"J-Jazz?" Prowl stuttered, clearly stunned to have gone from point A to point B without remembering the trip.

Jazz pressed closer, his arms locking tighter. "You're back, Prowler?" he asked warily.

"Back?" His expression was spooked, logic circuits scrambling to compute. "Where was I?" Was this another possible breakdown?

Jazz shook his head. "Ya don't want ta know." He sighed, stepped back, and looked Prowl over from head to foot. He was new again. Sharp, but tired. Not weak. Not broken. The clock had been turned back to the orn Jazz last remembered him. There didn't seem to be a thing out of place, aside from Prowl's obvious confusion. "How are ya feelin'?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Yeah, but Ah'm askin' ya."

Prowl raised a hand to his head to steady the dizzy spell he was suffering from. "I…" He blinked. "Good. I feel good," he informed, as if he couldn't believe his own words.

Jazz's optics flashed, a ghost of a smile claiming his mouthplates. "That's good."

The tactician frowned. "I shouldn't feel this way at all."

"Try not to think about it." Jazz took a storm-grey hand in his, holding it tight. He hoped Prowl was still confused enough to manipulate. "Ya look exhausted... Why don't ya recharge here? Ah hear the day's gonna be sunny- nice time ta catch up on rechargin'."

Prowl looked up, studying the sky. "…yes, of course. I do need to recharge." He allowed himself to be helped to the ground, laid out in the snow. Jazz didn't need to scan the mech to know not a trace of the Fallen's possession remained. He could _see_ it. The monster kept of his side of the bargain. Jazz pressed his forehead to Prowl's, drinking in every drop of the tactician's essence. His spark soared when he felt a weak hand cup the back of his head, bringing him closer.

"You're really back, aren't you?" Prowl murmured, his free hand framing Jazz's faceplate.

Jazz shuttered his optics. "Ah don't remember being gone."

A haunted shadow crossed Prowl's optics. "I remember," he murmured.

"Can't we just say Ah never left?" Jazz gently rubbed his faceplate to Prowl's storm-grey metal, savouring the feeling. This was the Prowl his spark belonged to.

A rare half-smile curved Prowl's mouthplates. "Have it your way."

"Thanks." His magnetic field activated, caressing Prowl's front to set the mech further at ease. "Recharge here an' Ah'll be back in a bit. Ya won't even notice Ah'm gone."

"Didn't you promise something similar last time you left?" Prowl asked. His recharge subroutines were already engaging on their own, causing his speech to slur slightly.

"An' look how far Ah came just ta come back," Jazz reassured, backing off, straightening up. "Ya can't get rid of meh that easily."

"True, you're very hard to get rid of." Prowl's blue optics dimmed, powering down.

"An' don't you forget it."

As soon as Jazz was sure Prowl was out cold, he turned for the woods and headed in the vague direction of the _Loki_. Long range scans kept bouncing around the uneven terrain, giving a distorted, incomplete impression of the place. Dawn came with a splash of light, easing the sky from grey to tones of warm pink and orange. The cheerfulness of the light was a perfect contrast to the cold determination lacing through Jazz. He didn't know exactly where he was going. He let his feet carry him. The _Loki _was a relatively good-sized ship- if he wandered around long enough, he'd find it.

His feet carried over the underbrush with a mind of their own, guiding him to the mountain niche sooner than he expected. The _Loki_ was exactly as he remembered it- an older model merchant ship, its outer hull more painted canvas than metal. Faded murals swirled everywhere, Sunstreaker's unmistakable talent infused to it all.

Rustling from around one of the sunken landing struts revealed Sideswipe shooting to his feet, sloshing his energon cube down his front.

"You-! They said-! I didn't believe…" The red mech openly gaped, one finger pointing dumbly in the air.

"Do ya believe now?" Jazz asked, spreading his arms wide.

"Uh- yeah." Almost warily, the warrior stepped closer. He didn't come too close, though. Sideswipe's optics were shrewd as they sized Jazz up, trying to figure out if what he was seeing was real.

"Don't treat meh like Ah somethin' special, Sides. Ah'm the same mech I've always been," Jazz said, frowning. "Ah've just been… _away_ for a while."

Sideswipe's head ducked embarrassedly, nodding awkwardly. "It's just… hard to believe."

"Ya don't have to believe. Ah'm standing right in front of ya." Jazz walked closer, sizing the other Autobot up. He noted the pale optics and dusty armour. Whatever Sideswipe had been doing recently must have been rigorous. The saboteur didn't have long to stare, because he suddenly had a pair of arms wrapped around him a little too tightly. The warrior was taller than him, though not as tall as Prowl. The effect was of being encased in a big, red cocoon. "…uh, Sideswipe?"

"Yeah?" He hugged a little tighter.

"Ah'm pretty sure this counts as treatin' meh special."

"Oh. Sorry." Sideswipe snapped back, standing oddly rigid.

"Where's Sunstreaker?" Jazz asked, trying to keep the meeting as normal as possible.

"On board, recharging," the red twin replied automatically.

"An' Megatron's frame?"

This time, Sideswipe paused. After a moment's hesitation, he cautiously informed, "The frame is in the hangar… Why?"

Jazz's head swung to the open hatch. "Just wonderin'." He started to make his way over, drawn up the steps and into the mural-painted hangar. Megatron had been dragged in via the ramp, left without any dignity as he lay spread-eagle, abandoned in the corner. A lingering scent of seas salt hung around the frame.

"Hello, boss," the saboteur sneered, lightly kicking Megatron's frame. Something like a static shock shot up his foot, causing him to jerk back. Despite the optics being black as night, Jazz humoured himself in thinking he was being glared at. "Guess ya remember meh, huh?"

Catching Sideswipe spark signature growing closer, Jazz swung around, narrowing his optics on the still-open hatch. "Give meh a moment in here," he called, successfully fending off the curious Autobot. Turning back to the corpse, the saboteur tipped it a crooked smile. "Got a promise ta keep, ya know? A little privacy for what Ah'm about ta do would be nice."

He kneeled, leaning over to pry open the Decepticon's interface panel. Jazz's own panel popped open easily. Withdrawing his cable, Jazz let it linger over Megatron's cold, dark port. Was it just him, or did the air feel _charged_ somehow? Like someone else was eager for the interface to happen? Scowling, Jazz's hand turned to a fist around the cable, ripping it out from his chest with a snarl and ramming the other end into Megatron's port.

With a small lace of energon oozing down his front, Jazz snapped to his feet and smirked down at the disappointed corpse. He had no doubt the Fallen was somehow listening, likewise double-crossed.

"Ah said Ah'd connect mah cable ta him, but Ah never said Ah'd be on the other end." Glaring indiscriminately into the depths of the hangar, he spat, "Ah told ya Ah was no one's _pet_."


	42. Revenge is Taken

_Spatial Orientation_- I realize that this story has gotten rather complicated, and often times with chapters so spread out, some details can be forgotten in the mix. It was the wise suggestion from a very good friend to leave a little note here to help orient all you in case you can't remember where the locations are. The first scene is written in the command center, which is a large above-ground complex for mainly Autobot use in communicating/coordinating with other Cybertronians and/or Earthlings, as well as being the main hub security feeds can be run through if the bots on shift don't want to be stuck in the lonely security viewing room staring at screens all shift by themselves. Nebula II is featured in the second scene, which is a part of the subterranean complexes the Autobots have dug out beneath the base, which serves as exclusively-Cybertronian levels. Nebula II is the successor of Nebula I (from _What Time We Have Left_); the establishment was introduced in chapter 34.

***Just for fun and further orientation, Optimus and the others are STILL in the northern mountains of California. ^^;

**Luck-of-the-Irishman**- Thank you so much, my friend. To hear that my stories here have become a masterpiece is nothing short of a dream come true. There is no greater gift than to know that a reader is enjoying the story. =) There is much that Jazz must beware of now, seeing as the Fallen is unlikely to take the double-cross well.

**CuteKitten**- lol~ It's about time Elita got sassy, eh? As her strength comes back, she's only going to get spicier. =P Glad you like Jazz taking the deal into his own capable hands. He's a mech like no other. XD As for your question, I'm ignoring the existence of TF2. This story began without it and it will finish without it.

**Thing With No Talent**- It could be that both Jazz and the Fallen have bitten off more than they can chew of the other. While the Fallen was thwarted by Jazz, the saboteur surely isn't going to escape unscathed. As for your views *shrug* they are your own. Who is anyone to say what it is you should think?

**The Toe of Sauron**- Jazz is the kind of mech you can't help but love! XD

**Independent C**- Jazz has got ball-bearings of steel, making the deal that he did. There's no doubt about that. You're very right in thinking there will be repercussions. Terrible ones. And I love your thinking of '_what if'_- what if Jazz had been on the other end, what would have happened? Watch the story closely, my friend. There will be another to step up to the plate, this one rising to Psi's request without even knowing.

**KyuubiSango**- Thank you so much, hun! The character of the Fallen/Psi wasn't decided upon until the appearance of his brethren in an expansion fic called _Surface of the Sun_. I was so enchanted by the natures of the Original 13 that I began to further incorporate them into the story. Psi, as one of them, has thoroughly captured my imagination as a fallen legend, a monster if you will. I am beyond happy to know that you have come to appreciate the character. :)

**Ragnarok347**- If you like Elita now, you're going to love it when she gets even spicier. The Fallen isn't going to know what hit him! XD Chapter 41 may not have been as emotional as the last, but not all the story can run on that high. My fingers would fall off. X_x

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- Oh no, my friend, the chapter wasn't a hard one to write at all. I was actually rather inspired weeks beforehand and had much of it already formed in my head. It was so much easier to write than chapter 40- I rather enjoyed it. ^_^ To hear that questions have arisen in your mind as to the Fallen's intentions towards Megatron's frame is most gratifying. The answers will come soon enough. =P

**Balrog Roike**- *nods wisely* Hopefully you do not speak from experience, my friend. The Fallen most definitely has used such semantics, but it never pays to double-cross a double-crosser. Jazz can only hope he remains more interesting than annoying for his own sake.

**Bluebird Soaring**- Well spoken, my friend~ Jazz is certainly dancing with the devil, and he's even daring to step on the beast's cloven hooves! You're too right saying Jazz has always lived on the edge- a risk like this, while perilously dangerous, is probably no worse than dying, at least in his optics. The consequences, though… They may be steep.

**FunkyFish1991**- Have I ever mentioned how amazing you are as a reader, reviewer, friend, and person in general? =D *fawns over you* Getting home from work the day you left those reviews was possibly the best day of my life! I wish I could write a chapter in reply to everything you wrote, but seeing as I can't (damn the rules! *shakes fist*), I'll reply to the chapter reviews separately:

**40**- *deep breath* I am truly, utterly, deeply sorry for my cruel and unwarranted attack on your good person. I shall never do it again. I did not realize that the greatness of my writing had the ability to short out your impeccable mind. That is something that must be marked down in a calendar somewhere for future reference. XD Now, as for the body of the review, you are such a brilliant young woman, you know that? Your analysis of the characters is always bang on. You have Optimus and Prowl down to a tee~ Although, for your thoughts of Prowl fanboying Optimus, I must concede to handing to the mind-bleach just as soon as I'm done with it. -_- Your giggling, flapping, and excitement over Jazz's return made me go back and read the whole chapter again, just to see it through your eyes. Yes, that made the chapter better. =D

**41**- Wow, you hit the nail on the head when addressing Psi as a petulant child (or a creepy villain trying to pick up the heroine dressed a hooker- which I endlessly get a laugh out of). I can't say that's what I was intentionally aiming for, but now that it's down in words, I cannot help but agree whole-heartedly with the assessment. At least Elita is getting some sass back to throw in the Fallen's face. The more strength she gets back, the sassier she's going to get. You're right in saying she's equal to the Prime; eons of torture has worn her down, but now that she's got some fire back in her optics, it's not about to go away. As for your review/analysis of the second half of the chapter- you set my heart at ease with it. That, and you put me in awe in more than one instance with your extraordinary insight into the characters. Not to mention some of your paraphrases of the chapter were giggle-snort worthy! XD After reading your brilliant review-essay of Jazz's character within the chapter, I was delightedly surprised to read that I had at least left one surprise for you at the end of the chapter. It's good to know the story has not become predictable. =P

I can never thank you enough for everything, Fishy. You are one extraordinary person and I am in awe of your talent for seeing what others miss, reading between the lines, and the initiative you take to actively solve the puzzles I've laid out for readers. Above all that, I'm grateful for finding such an amazing friend in you. You're one of a kind, that's for sure. =P

Special thanks to the usual crew- **FunkyFish1991, SylentNyte, Litahatchee, Lecidre**, and **Violetlight**. Extra special thanks to **Fish** for beta-reading the majority of this chapter. *hugs*

**As We Come Together  
In Which Revenge is Taken **

Blaster relaxed back into the lawn chair he'd stolen from a human in the human sector who looked like he wasn't going to use it anymore. Relaxed as can be, he propped his feet up on the miniature console he was supposed to be monitoring. His optics were closed for the moment as he surfed through several internet sites, all of it comfortably contained in his head. The two sites that were quickly becoming his favourites were eBay, for the sheer amount of human junk he could find for sale, and YouTube, for the sheer amount of human junk on there, too- not for sale, but he liked laughing at how ridiculous some humans could be.

While he was surfing around, Blaster was also updated his facebook page. It was appropriately done up with a fake human identity, complete with a fake life he supposedly lead and a gallery full of pictures of his holographic self hanging out with the holograms of the other Autobots. For fun, he sent a few messages to Bluestreak's and Smokescreen's fake facebook pages, to which they replied immediately. Both Autobots were sitting in the same room as the communications officer.

After updating his blog, the microbot proceeded to reply to a few e-mails sent by several large companies looking to contract him to improve their virtual security against hackers. Of course, they weren't necessarily looking for 'Autobot Communications Officer Blaster'. They were looking for 'DJ Blaster', who had skilfully hacked each and every one of their databases, rearranged them to his liking, and then tastefully left his resume in the aftermath. It had been a spout of boredom that had resulted in being dressed down by a particularly irked Optimus a few months before. It all worked out, though. After the humans got over their outrage, they had been generally willing to accept his hand in beefing up their security. Blaster was wise enough to keep the measures to the most basic standard, which was still light-years ahead of Earth technology. However, the jobs gave Blaster something to do when he wasn't on shift and they paid handsomely. Some were even in the six-digit figures- not that Blaster needed the money for himself.

The funds all went to the collective account the Autobots shared, which served the dual purpose of covering the various unforeseen expenses encountered on Earth and paying back what debts they owed to several governments for hefty donations and allowances. It was not in any of the Autobots' natures to accept being under the thumb of the humans. The sooner they paid off their debts, the better.

After e-mails, Blaster cracked open his optics to regard the large screen in front of him. Time for something a little more interactive; World of Warcraft could be played virtually in his head, but it was far more fun to watch it be played out on a screen. He compartmentalized the game into a quarter of the screen, bringing up three different video feeds in the other three quarters. While he played his game with a gaggle of humans who had no idea he was an alien, all except for a one Chip Chase whom he'd gotten to know during the human's stay on base, Blaster multi-tasked by rotating the base's camera feeds to watch each one. Multi-tasking like that was hardly a strain for him. It wasn't like he really expected anything to happen, anyways.

Bluestreak laughed to himself as he spoke with Miles on MSN. It was one of the few wonderful ways the mech could talk a mile a minute and yet remain perfectly silent. Miles was proving to be just what the sniper needed- someone else who was overly excitable and liked to talk endlessly about extremely random things. Miles also had the endurance to stay online for almost 2 joors at a time, which was impressive if one considered that that was roughly 13 hours to a human.

Smokescreen suddenly threw his hands up into the air, jumping to his feet. "That's right, humans! That's what you get for playing high-stakes online poker with the Prime of Gambling!" He pointed to his monitor, cheering. "You can all kiss my shiny metal aft! _I win_!" He proceeded to dance about in victory.

Blaster spared the tactician a glance, accessing the monitor to peek at the mech's winnings. Under several assumed identities across a plethora of gambling sites, Smokescreen had managed to accumulate several hundred thousand dollars at high-stakes poker through his shift. He wasn't even rigging the online games, either. He was just good at it. This round, he picked up an even 18.5 grand. The humans were lucky they didn't lose more. Judging from the sore comments appearing across the screen, none of them were taking their loss with much grace.

"Aren't you supposed to be monitoring the base's systems to make sure we don't get hacked?" Blaster asked while refocusing his attention on his own gaming.

"Need you rain on my parade?" Smokescreen sniffed.

"I don't _need_ to, but I _like_ to," Blaster teased.

Smokescreen promptly stopped his gloating, crossing his arms over his chassis. "Aren't you supposed to be monitoring the perimeter?"

"And who's going to break the perimeter? A coyote?" The red mech stretched out, letting his chair sag pathetically under his weight. "We're the only Cybertronians around for miles. SkyWatch is disbanded and we got their leaders on base. The Neutrals are even accounted for up on the Labradorean coast. No one's going to physically attack us." He pointed a weaselling finger at Smokescreen. "But that don't mean some nosey little human couldn't somehow get access to our mainframe and decide to take a walkabout. _Or,_ Soundwave and his crew could get bored and decide to put a few glitches in our system. You never know about things like that. So, you know, get back to your monitoring and stuff." He waved his two-finger hand dismissively.

Smokescreen rolled his optics. "I've already run the probability of each of those scenarios, and while the chance of Frenzy and Rumble getting bored and deciding to try something stupid is high, it's still not high enough to worry much. Soundwave will keep them in line, if anything." The tactician suddenly made a horrified face. "Oh Primus, I'm replying on a Decepticon now. I'm disgusted with myself."

Blaster pointed and laughed.

"Mute it, you little glitch," Smokescreen ordered mulishly. "It's not funny!"

Blaster laughed harder.

"This is just great," Smokescreen sighed, pouting. "I've been hunting those Decepticons for vorns. I would have _killed_ any of them on sight! And now I'm _relying_ on one of them to keep the rest in check?"

"Freaky, right?" Blaster intoned, still chuckling a little. "It's like landing on Earth turned all the rules upside down."

Bluestreak poked his head up, seeing as he and Miles had finally signed off MSN. "You know, I don't think I mind it much," he said thoughtfully. "It's different, but at the same time it's nice, isn't it? Kind of peaceful. "

Blaster blinked, and then shrugged. "I sure ain't gonna complain about it."

Smokescreen sighed. "I'm not complaining, per se," he said stubbornly. "It's just… I don't know- fragged up, somehow. It takes some getting used to." He started clearing his monitor of his poker games. There was only so much money you can win in a night before it got old, but the amount he did win was pretty considerable. He could probably make a human cry with it all. "I know where the Decepticons are, I know they're dangerous, I know more than one of them is psychotic enough to wipe out all life on the entire east coast, and it's weird not doing anything about it. I'm relying on them to keep themselves in line. Does anyone else think that's twisted?"

"Sure, it's twisted, but we gotta get used it," Blaster shrugged. "All Soundwave and the others want is to be left alone. They ain't hurting no one, as far as I can tell, so it's best to just leave them be."

Smokescreen threw his hands out. "And where does that leave us?"

"_Bored,"_ Bluestreak sighed. "Does anyone else find it sad that if we're not fighting Decepticons, we don't know what to do with ourselves?"

There was a long pause as all three Autobots considered the question, and then sagged when they all realized they really _didn't_ know what to do with themselves anymore.

"I wish I was a sciencey type," Smokescreen suddenly said. "You know- they all got something to do, right? Hound's practically gone native on us, Trailbreaker and Pathfinder are off somewhere in the desert looking at rocks." The tactician waved a hand in a vague direction. "Wheeljack was starting to design that spacebridge thing before he left to meet the _Loki_, and Perceptor has that atmospheric carbon extractor he's working on. They all have something to do, and we got nothing."

"How's that carbon extractor coming, anyways?" Blaster asked curiously.

Bluestreak perked up a little. He'd been assisting Perceptor a few nights ago on it. "The carbon extraction is coming along just fine- that's the easy part," he informed helpfully. "It's the compression system that's giving him trouble. He can get coal just fine, and he even forms some pretty decent diamonds, but they're too small for us to handle. We can't make lenses or anything from them. He's been selling the excess off to different human companies that deal in gemstones."

"Humans go nuts for the strangest things- metals, minerals, slag like that…" Blaster shook his head. "Sure, I'll admit I had a few magnetic dangly-chains with a couple pretty stones on them, but you never would have seen anyone on Cybertron going so crazy for the stuff." They all chuckled at the absurdity. "What do you want to bet some human would jump out of his skin if he knew what our frames were made of?"

Smokescreen propped his elbows on his console, smirking at Blaster. "You're worth _at least_ a couple billion dollars."

Blaster sat up, scooting his chair around. "I'm worth more than that!" he countered, lifting an arm so that a long, thin dart slid from a launcher there. "This one dart here is made of acidynium, for Primus sake! It's acidic enough burn through almost any metal, and it's not naturally occurring in this part of space. It's probably worth a couple billion on its own."

"Point taken, you're practically priceless," Smokescreen said, rolling his optics.

Blaster puffed out his chest. "That's what my Creator used to tell me."

"I'm sure that's not the only thing your Creator used to call you," the tactician teased.

"You're just jealous," sniffed the microbot.

"Of you? Please. I'm ten times your size, which means I'm worth ten times as much. Probably more."

"My personality makes up for my size," Blaster countered confidently. "Seeing as you were programmed with the personality of a rusty wrench and I'm as delightful as a new paintjob, guess whose value goes up?" He pointed to himself, as if it weren't obvious enough.

"I wouldn't pay so much as a single credit for you."

"Hypocrite! You just said I was worth billions!"

"Yeah, to a human," Smokescreen snorted. "Didn't you just say they were nuts?"

Bluestreak tapped his fingers innocently on his console, drumming up a bit of attention his way. "You do realize that we're talking about selling ourselves to the humans, right?"

"Like regular Earth-prostitutes," Blaster quipped, grinning. Even though the joke wasn't that funny, they laughed so hard they missed the urgent incoming request for an open channel. Only when Mirage glided into the command center did the three Autobots sober up.

"Hey, captain, what's shakin'?" Smokescreen greeted happily, only to receive an icy stare.

"Were you not aware that Optimus Prime is trying to contact us?" the spy enquired, deftly opening the flashing channel.

"Um…"

"I believe that answers my question." Mirage turned to the active screen, bowing to Optimus. "Is everything all right, Prime?"

Optimus nodded, looking quite a bit more pensive than he usually was. Thankfully, he didn't appear to be begrudging Mirage for his previous transgressions. _"Yes, everything is more than all right,"_ he said.

Mirage canted his head. The other Autobots in the command center straightened up, trying to hide the evidence of their laxness on shift.

"Then, may I enquire as to the nature of this call?" the spy asked.

"Checking up on us, boss bot?" Blaster asked, albeit a tad guiltily.

"_Nothing of the sort_," Prime assured. _"I have some very interesting news, though_."

"Do share," Mirage invited.

And share the Prime did. What news he had was nothing short of absolutely stunning, leaving the base-bound Autobots to stare in flabbergasted shock in the aftermath. When no one could quite believe what they were being told, Optimus sent his own memory file of the event to be viewed and confirmed by the others.

Bluestreak eased to his feet, leaning forward as he sped through the memory for the third time, watching Jazz's spark materialize, watching it glide down into the sparkcase, seeing Jazz's optics light up.

"He's really back?" the sniper wondered breathlessly, optics wide, awed.

"_Yes,"_ Optimus replied firmly.

"If it was going to be anyone, it'd be him," Blaster commented, nodding.

"This is truly amazing news, Prime," Mirage said, the most contained of them all in the command center. There was only a minor hitch to his voice to indicate any surprise at all.

Smokescreen frowned, stuck on one little detail. "But now the Allspark is _really_ gone," he sighed. "Just when it looked like the damn thing was regenerating- when it looked like we had a slagging chance!- it just up and turns to dust." Wisely, he was ignored.

A sudden light came across Bluestreak's faceplate, his grin lighting up his handsome features. "I've got to tell everyone!" he exclaimed, transforming and zooming out.

"The whole base will know within the hour," Mirage nodded accordingly in wake of Bluestreak's departure.

Optimus appeared enlivened by the news. _"Good." _

"When can we expect your return to Tranquility?" the spy asked before Optimus could close the channel.

Optimus frowned a little, shaking his head. _"It will be a few more orns, at least. Virus is not due to arrive until the end of January, perhaps not even until mid-February. I would have thought she would be eager to have Megatron's frame in her possession, but she maintains there are matters she is seeing to at the moment."_

"I shudder to think what matters those could be," Mirage intoned disdainfully. "To stoop to such a level…"

"_Never mind that, Mirage- we should count ourselves lucky that Virus deigned it appropriate to be at our disposal. I should be going, though. I'll let you get back to your own duties."_ With a respectful nod, Optimus signed out.

Mirage sighed and closed the channel, turning to face the remaining bots in the room. "I take it the likelihood of you returning to your duties is practically negligible now."

"Pretty much," Blaster and Smokescreen chimed in unison. With a dismissive wave of Mirage's hand, they shot out of the command center to celebrate the sudden return of their comrade.

* * *

Punch stared dazedly at his energon cube, processing the information Bluestreak had just imparted to him. What would have taken most bots an easy breem to convey, and then possibly a few more to exclaim over, Bluestreak had easily taken up half a joor. Possibly more. And because the young sniper was more excited than usual, he ended up babbling worse than what was normal for him.

It took a bit of work to sort through everything being said, but Punch wasn't special ops for nothing. Eventually, he deciphered what Bluestreak was trying to say: Jazz was alive. The sneaky, sly, clever, unstoppable mech himself once again doing what they said couldn't be done. It was too good to be true. Not just because he was back, either. That part was good, but what Punch was thinking could possibly be better. For him.

Jazz was the only mech who could end his mission. Permanently. Jazz only mech who could kill Counterpunch.

Grasping his cube, Punch drained the energon in one fell swoop. He slammed it back to the table and shook his head to clear it. Bluestreak's voice still rang in his audios. He thought he was used to nonsensical babbling from Nightbeat, but the sniper took it to a whole new level.

Scrubbing a tired hand over his faceplate, Punch shoved to his feet and made his way to the back of Nebula II where the energon was stored. There was no high-grade, so he contented himself with regular energon, drowning it in cyanide to give it a little more kick. Yeah, it was one of those moments when one just needed to down a whole lot of cyanide and hoped it worked as well as high-grade. Punch hadn't had one of those orns in a long time.

Glancing over his shoulder warily, Punch then looked back at the small cube of cyanide he was adding to his drink. No one else was in the room. Good, he felt like being alone with his thoughts, cyanide, and energon. No, on second thought, skip the energon. He brought the cyanide to his mouthplates and took it straight. The taste was bitter. Earth-made cyanide had a funny aftertaste to it, too. Not bad, just funny. He made a face at it.

The flimsy door of Nebula II suddenly kicked open, admitting one bubblegum-blue mech.

"Punch! Punch, are you sulking back there?" Dealer crowed merrily, flashing his headlights through the room.

Punch growled, hunching as low as he could in hopes of not being spotted. He started to activate a dampener that would hide his spark signature as well, but was too slow for that. Dealer's head appeared over the edge of the long counter.

"There you are!" he cheered. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" The mech's optics flashed smouldering red in the eerie ghost-blue lighting of Nebula II, contrasting harshly with the soft atmosphere. After a moment, the redness was gone. "You've heard, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I heard," Punch growled, shrugging away from Dealer's hands tiredly.

"Well, wasn't he your commander? You'd think you'd be a little more excited!"

Punch rubbed the raised bridge between his optics. "I am excited."

"Not excited enough!" Dealer danced around, radiating excitement like the sun radiated light. "You should be above ground with everyone else! Even the dirt-monkeys are getting excited!"

Punch growled, glaring at his fellow double-agent. "You're overplaying this," he warned.

Dealer skidded to a halt, relaxing. His optics flashed again. "Oh? And who says both of us are not excited?" he asked teasingly. "Doubledealer could be just as excited as I am. Things like this don't happen every orn, you know."

"Doubledealer…"

"Ah, ah, ah, he's not here at the moment. If you want to leave a message, I'll be sure to get it to him," Dealer teased, wagging a finger. "It's all me at the moment, and I just found out an Autobot came back from the dead. I'm about as excited as any one Autobot can be! You can almost say I'm excited enough for two bots!" Laughing, he threw his arms around Punch, squeezing tightly. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Extricating himself, Punch backed into a table. "Yeah, like the second coming of Primus," he sighed.

Frowning, Dealer clapped his hands to his hips. "What is with you? You're not acting like yourself at all! If you're going to be like that, I'd rather talk to Counterpunch!"

Punch glared fiercely. "I'm tired, Dealer."

"Then get some recharge and come back when you're ready to be nice!" The blue mech flicked him a commanding hand of dismissal.

"Not that kind of tired," the blazing-orange mech growled. "I'm tired of _this_. All of this." His own optics flashed red. He motioned between himself and Dealer. "I'm tired of not knowing who I am anymore- coming online and wondering who I'm going to be today. I'm so sick of it all."

Dealer's mouthplates dropped open. He shot a sharp glance to the entrance of Nebula II, not liking how exposed the flimsy sheet of metal made them to eavesdroppers. He walked over and definitively snapped it shut, as if that would help. When he turned around, his optics were red. Right before Punch's optics, the brightness of Dealer's paint deepened to midnight. He kept his Autobot signature modulator on.

"You're not serious," Doubledealer hissed.

"I-I am-." Punch clenched his fists upon hearing the stutter. Frustration hit him with how easily Counterpunch came to the surface in the presence of another Decepticon. Damn the stuttering fool! "I'm serious, Doubledealer!"

The Decepticon crossed his arms over his chassis. "It's being on this dirty little planet, isn't it? It's been putting thoughts into your head…"

"No, it's not that." Punch grabbed a chair and sat down heavily. When he looked at his own hands, he was surprised to see he'd forgotten about the cyanide cube there. He finished the last drops and stashed the cube in subspace. "I've been thinking about it for a while, ever since we left Starscream on Chaar with the other Seekers. It got worse when I lost Nightbeat to the Mastermind."

"What are you trying to say?"

The Autobot issued an irritated look. "I'm tired of being the go-between, Doubledealer. I hate playing both sides. We lose twice as many friends that way."

Doubledealer spun away, hands running over his head in frustration. "I can't believe I'm hearing this from you."

"Believe it."

"We've been through so much already and you're quitting _now_? So what if we lose people on both sides? We still have each other, don't we? Isn't that all that ever mattered?"

Punch buried his faceplate in his palms. "I don't want to do this forever. I _can't_ do this anymore. It has to end. You know it has to- don't lie to me, I know you know."

"But why _now_? There's so much we can still do!" Doubledealer was suddenly in front of him, sliding into a chair next to him, taking his hands. "And what about Counterpunch, huh? What does he think of this? What happens if you get rid of him?"

Punch bristled. "Counterpunch. Is. Me."

Each word had to be articulated precisely. It had to be said. The revelation had to be given voice. It had been so long since he'd thought such a traitorous thought… to say it out loud released a tension he didn't know had been building inside him. It made the fact more real.

Doubledealer was horrified, unable to form words. He jerked his hands away as if sickened to be touching the Autobot.

Punch steeled himself, staring straight ahead at a point above the Decepticon's head. "As soon as Jazz comes back to base, I'm going to ask him to end the Counterpunch program. There's no need for a double-agent like me anymore. He's the one who wrote the program, installed it, and initialized it; he's the one who can shut it down." He dragged in a hard whoosh of stale, dirt-scented air. "I'm going to end this, Doubledealer, and nothing you can say will change my mind."

The Decepticon double-agent said nothing. Honestly, he could find no words to say at all to his long-time friend.

The Autobot felt the need to say more. His optics pleaded weakly as he looked up to his friend. "I don't have to do this alone- I want you to at least consider ending the Dealer program. Soundwave is here on Earth; he's not Bludgeon, not the one who created Dealer, but he can probably help you. There's no Decepticon better at any kind of data manipulation than he is. You don't have to play this game anymore- _we_ don't have to play. We're not fighting for anything on this planet- Autobots and Decepticons, it hardly matters anymore."

Doubledealer's faceplate fell from shock to an expression Punch couldn't quite read. His voice was steadily neutral when he said, "I want to talk to Counterpunch."

"He is me."

"I want to talk to Counterpunch."

Punch's mouthplates pressed into a thin line. "Fine, talk to him. Whatever." Blue optics bled red. Blinding yellow-orange armour deepened into the colour of bruises. The determination of Punch's faceplate faded to a cowardly countenance, cringing under Doubledealer's hard stare. "W-w-what d-do you want?"

"You're aware that Punch wants to kill you?" the Decepticon asked.

"Y-yes."

"And you're allowing it?"

Counterpunch ducked his head, wringing his hands uncomfortably. "I-I don't have m-much ch-choice in the matter, d-do I?"

"Of course you do," Doubledealer growled, enough to have the other mech shy away. "You are your own bot, aren't you?"

It took a fraction of an astrosecond to answer, but finally the words came, albeit unsurely. "I-I am Punch."

Doubledealer's optics narrowed. "You are Counterpunch."

"No, no- I'm P-Punch. C-Counterpunch is just a program." He quivered, shaking his head. There was no conviction in his voice.

"Then how come you're not acting like Punch?" Doubledealer asked smoothly. "How come you don't feel like him? Think like him? When you look at your reflection, do you feel like an Autobot at all?"

"N-no," admitted the mech. "B-but that's the pro-programming, isn't it? It makes th-the act believable. P-Punch controls it all, though-" He cringed. "I-I m-mean _I _control it all. _I_ am Punch."

Doubledealer had never particularly liked Counterpunch. He was a snivelling, cowardly bot without much use to him, but to let him go out without so much as putting up a fight? That would be pathetically sad. The Decepticon double-agent rose from his seat, circling around to lay his hands to Counterpunch's bruise-coloured shoulders.

"You are more than just a program. You are your own mech, as much as Dealer is, and you shouldn't have to give up your life just because Punch is tired of sharing."

Counterpunch's optics turned blue. "Doubledealer, that's enough-!"

"I'm not talking to you, Punch!" His hands tightened, subduing the other. Counterpunch returned, whimpering. Doubledealer stooped to the mech's audio. "There's a way you can be your mech. I know someone who can make it real- make all of this more real than it's ever been."

"H-how?"

"The Mastermind."

Counterpunch sat straight, gasping. "No-!"

"_Yes."_ Doubledealer drew from subspace a compact transmitter, a sophisticated piece that put current technology to shame. "The only reason I'm here on this base, letting Dealer masquerade about as the fool he is, is because I was hired by the Mastermind. He wanted me to come here and survey what has become of the bots on this planet. I'm to report to him anything interesting that I find."

"Y-you're going t-to tell him about J-Jazz?"

"Of course I will, you dolt. While I'm at it, I could very well mention fixing us as payment for infiltrating this place. He could make you real, make Dealer real…"

Temptation glittered in Counterpunch's optics. "Is it possible?"

"For him? Probably. All you have to do is fight for it, don't let Punch win. Don't let what we have going here end."

Orange bled through gloomy paint, red optics switching to blue. "I suggest you take your own advice, my friend," Punch announced stonily, locking optics with the double-agent. "Dealer, I'm sure you were listening. Fight for yourself. Come out and play."

Doubledealer made a choked noise, and then subsided into himself as Dealer came to bear. The mech bounced on his feet, grinning a wide Cheshire grin.

"How did you know I couldn't resist temptation?" the bubblegum-blue mech twittered.

"Because you were programmed not to," Punch replied stoically.

That wiped the grin from Dealer's faceplate. "Fine, be that way," he spat.

"Don't worry, I will be," Punch returned evenly.

A finger was brandished in his faceplate. "But if you dare go telling anyone what Doubledealer said to Counterpunch, it's not just us that will be on your aft. The Mastermind will be too, and I'm betting he won't be as nice as us." Before anything more could be said, the double-agent whipped out of Nebula II and headed for the surface where the rest of the Autobots were gathering.

Punch glared after him, fists clenched. That is, until he realized one very important detail; he couldn't remember what Doubledealer had said to Counterpunch. Shock trembled through him. Those memories were not his own.

* * *

Prowl came online with a familiar set of optics watching him.

"Have you been there this whole time?" the tactician enquired, turning his head to regard the silver mech propped against the trunk of a heavy fir tree.

"Just enjoin' the view," Jazz replied, smiling handsomely.

That was not the answer Prowl had been seeking, no matter how flattering it was. He canted his head, asking again, "Have you been there this whole time?"

Jazz chuckled, as if remembering his usual evasion techniques were worthless against Prowl. "Mostly. Came an' went a few times ta see the others, get a cube of Sides' energon, but other than that…" A sleek silver shoulder shrugged. "Ah promised ya wouldn't notice Ah was gone, an' you know how Ah hate ta break promises."

"How could I forget?" With a groan, Prowl sat up, shaking loose the thin layer of snow that had come to rest on him during recharge. Though only a few joors had passed to him, almost four earth days had already passed. Not a full orn of recharge, but what he got was certainly enough to make him cease feeling as if he were going to fall apart at the seams. His vision steadied, his attentions diverting momentarily to taking stock of his status readings- curiously, aside from the need of more recharge and a bit of energon, everything ran at one hundred percent. Believing it to be an error, Prowl ran a self-diagnostic, receiving yet the same readings. That simply did not compute with him.

Sensing Jazz's intensified gaze, Prowl was wise not to give into it too readily. He did not turn his head and openly stare back. To give Jazz leave to look into his optics would give the mech the advantage; his uncanny ability to see more than what was there was one of Jazz's greatest gifts. With the mystery of his newfound health weighing on him, Prowl could only be suspicious of the saboteur's presence. Perhaps it was only a deep-seated case of paranoia that nipped at him, but as he gauged Jazz from the periphery, judged his stance, weighed his expression, something bothered Prowl enough to think the two instances were related.

As easily as Jazz could read Prowl, Prowl was gifted with the same level of intimate knowledge that let him read Jazz. From their first meeting, their uncanny affinity for the other had been a quality that attracted them like moth to flame. The tactician, now thinking clearly for the first time in a long time, sought to use his affinity to his advantage.

The saboteur, too wise too sharp to miss any such detail, saw Prowl's veiled appraisal but did nothing to curtail or distract it.

Prowl noted Jazz's stance; it was not his usual sprawl the tactician remembered so clearly, which was an artistic arrangement of limbs made to disguise danger. Jazz sat somewhat rigidly, a pose that was more guarded than relaxed. Not guarded_ from_ Prowl- more like _guarding_. As if he were on watch for a lurking threat. The mech was not even bothering to disguise the tension that rose from such a task. Jazz's expression, though inherently Jazz-like to one who did not know the mech better, was not as carefree-cum-calculating as Prowl knew it to be. More than the usual shadows lurked in the silver mech's optics.

Still not looking directly at his lover, using the polite excuse of testing and stretching his frame as reason to study Jazz uninhibited from the corner of his optic, Prowl took stock not just of physical detail, but of circumstance. It had only been an orn prior that the mech had been dead. It was perfectly logical that an event such as resurrection was enough to put anyone off their usual paces. The saboteur could still be trying to reconcile himself to the circumstance. However, a detail nagged that that was not entirely the case. Some untold feeling that was not entirely logical- the same instinct that had whispered to Prowl that it was _okay_ to be illogical sometimes- insisted that there was more to the story. Undoubtedly, Jazz's murder at Megatron's hands played a part in the mech's unsettled persona, but as a whole it was not the sole effecter.

If that was the case, what was the true effecter? Was it tied to Prowl's own miraculous recovery? Possibly responsible for the avid watchfulness Jazz regarded him with now?

No longer able to feign his appraisal of himself, Prowl dutifully turned to the silver mech waiting on him. Jazz straightened fractionally, though did not move from his place. Snow had settled on parts of his frame not protected by the thick overhang of the fir tree. In the shade, his optics looked unusually bright, even more watchful.

"What have you done?" Prowl sighed, the question blunt but the delivery soft.

"Ah haven't done anything," Jazz replied smoothly, inclining his head. His reactions, on the other hand, told another story. It was nothing more than a brief spasm of his hands, tension causing them to begin to curl into fists before he caught himself and stopped. It was telling enough.

Prowl noted the movement, nodding to it. "You have always been a good liar, Jazz, but not good enough to hide from me."

The saboteur looked to the side, a small smirk curling his mouthplates. "Mah one weakness," he murmured, more to himself than anything.

"Tell me what you've done," Prowl insisted, though not forcefully. He kept his voice soft, even. His optics were glued to the sight of the silver mech, drinking in the details. His emotional center was still on, and for once he had no inclination to switch it off. What he was experiencing in that moment was not easily describable, yet it was entirely pleasant.

Jazz turned his gaze back to Prowl. There was something hungry in his optics as he traced every rigid detail of the tactician's storm-grey frame. The slow procession he made from Prowl's optics to his feet and back again stoked the long-dead embers of interest in the tactician, feeling his own frame slowly come back to life. Once done with his sensuous perusal of his lover's frame, Jazz quietly said,

"Ah'd tell ya if Ah could, but there's only so much your logic circuits can take before they fry."

Prowl wryly touched the side of his head. "They have been overextended for far too long. I believe they are already fried." He dared a smirk, which actually could be called one of his rare smiles that looked all too handsome on his faceplate. "Unless you have changed drastically since the last time we were together, it is safe to say that the use of logic where you are concerned is useless anyways."

"Flatterer," Jazz teased.

"Stating a fact," Prowl replied. He raised his hands, inspecting them; they no longer shook uncontrollably. His insides no longer hurt; the pressure inside his head from energizer nanobot build-up was gone. His emotional center was engaged, yet he was operating within reasonable capacity with it. He looked to the saboteur. "Whatever it is you did, I'll understand. Believe me, I am more than grateful to be back to myself."

Jazz considered the words for a long while, continuing to study Prowl as if he couldn't get enough of what he saw. Of course, Prowl could not get enough of what he saw in Jazz either, so they were even. Finally, the saboteur relented with a small sigh.

"Ah made a deal," he stated.

Prowl canted his head, inviting more.

A sudden smirk crossed Jazz's features. "The night Ah came back from the dead, the Fallen possessed your frame an' came ta meh pretendin' ta be the devil. Ah figured out his game, an' he told meh he wanted meh ta interface with Megatron's frame. When Ah refused, he held your gun ta your head. Ta save ya, Ah made a deal with him. Ah don't regret it."

A long, heavy silence followed.

Prowl blinked slowly, pinching the bridge of metal between his optics. "If you didn't want to tell me the truth, you could have just said so."

Now Jazz grinned, but the gleam in his optics was strangely bitter. "Now where would the fun be in that?"

Deciding that it was best to let the subject drop, Prowl dared to chuckle a little. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"Why mess with perfection?"

"Still so humble, too," the tactician laughed. His optics brightened, flashing in the clear afternoon light. "It's as if you've never been dead."

An undisguised grimace crossed Jazz's faceplate. "Can we all stop sayin' that word?" he sighed.

Remembering Jazz's request before he fell into recharge, Prowl ducked his head a little, nodding. "Sorry. It must be distressing to have everyone keep repeating the fact over and over…"

"It's not distressin', just slaggin annoying." His shoulders sagged, some tension releasing. "Ah don't remember any of it, Prowl. Nothin'. Last thing Ah remember is seein' Megatron's ugly mug, and then comin' online seein' your not-so-ugly one. There's nothin' in between."

The saboteur didn't bother to mention the freaky-as-pit processing interruptions he'd been having since he came online. Brief flashes of light. The sensation of someone reaching out, himself reaching back. They were nothing if not frustrating popping up whenever he tried to focus on that blank stretch of time between going away and coming back.

Prowl honestly appeared surprised by the news. "You remember nothing at all?"

Jazz confirmed with a shake of his head.

"That is unfortunate." He looked down for a moment, then back up. "I can share my memories, if you like. I didn't see anything, but when Optimus was bringing you back, I certainly _felt_ things."

A thrill zipped through both of them at the mere thought of connecting again. What tiny embers had been stoked to life before burned a little brighter in eagerness to touch each other's minds. The inviting smile that curved Jazz's faceplate was handsome, warm, and welcoming.

"All right, show meh." He extended a hand.

Accepting the invitation, Prowl stood, stretched, and then crossed the few paces to the snow-laden tree. Taking Jazz's hand, he allowed himself to be guided into shade, kneeling so that he faced the silver mech, hands braced against the trunk of the tree. For the briefest moment, he glanced up into the complexity of the organism surrounding them, its branches reaching out in a tangle of brown, green, and white. The beady-bright eyes of a curious squirrel peered down through the living labyrinth.

A magnetic pulse caressing down his front drew Prowl's attention back to the mech in front of him. When Jazz noted the tactician's attention was solely on him, he reached up to guide Prowl's head down, pressing their foreheads together. He blew a jet of warm air over the storm-grey mech, fogging his armour. Automatically, Prowl's hands rose to frame Jazz's faceplate, dextrous fingers tracing the sharp, handsome features. His thumbs, long and four-jointed, caressed over the saboteur's mouthplates, along the jointed planes of his cheeks. Every detail was distinctly unique and befitting of such an unusually brilliant creature.

With his free hand, Jazz traced the contours of Prowl's powerful frame. Unlike himself, Prowl still retained his Cybertronian configuration. There was nothing excess about it; all very functional, fitted. Not a scrap of metal wasted. The only quirk, albeit one that Jazz had always taken enjoyment in, were the two jutting wings that stood from Prowl's back. Side panels from Prowl's alt mode that didn't quite have a place to lay flat when he stood up. While they did not particularly mesh with Prowl's normally serious self, they were a detail that made him even more handsome. The wings, as Jazz well knew, were sensitive along the crease where they met his back. If memory served, the right magnetic pulse could…

"Ah-!" Prowl jolted, arching in surprise as a wash of sensation raced through him. Touching on the hyper-sensitive neural circuits attaching his metal wings to his back, the sensual touch almost had him spontaneously overloading. "Stop that, or I'll never get around to giving you those memories."

"An' here Ah wanted ta make some memories of mah own." The clawed hand that clasped the back of Prowl's head slid away to join its twin behind the tactician's back, teaming up to send a stronger magnetic pulse into the receptive neural circuits there. In response, the mech bowed, groaning one long note of pure, primal satisfaction. Jazz happily saved the visual and audio, planning on keeping it for a very long time.

"You are still healing from your wounds," Prowl insisted, trying to gather his scattered wits. One hand fell to the angry welding scar across Jazz's abdomen.

Jazz grunted, faceplate wrinkling. "Take mah mind off it, will ya? Ah could do with a little less hurtin' an' a little more lovin'."

"Ratchet would dismantle us if we managed to reopen those welds," Prowl countered.

"Ah'm not lookin' for rough play, Prowler," the silver mech teased. His hand ghosted over Prowl's panel suggestively. "We can do this all in our heads, can't we? Not as fun, but it could work."

"Mmmmm, it could. Just so long as we're not rolling all over the place." He shook his head in amusement. "I might as well agree. I know if I interface with you, you won't give me any option but to indulge you."

"As if you've ever cared."

It was true, surprisingly enough. For someone as rigid as Prowl, he took a great deal of exception when it came to Jazz. In fact, that was one of the elements that made it so enjoyable to be in his company. Meeting the mech's glittering gaze, Prowl determined it had been far too long since he had taken exception to Jazz.

"At least let me transfer the memories first," the tactician sighed, smiling. His hands slid to Jazz's left shoulder, tracing the well-disguised panel hidden beneath the sleek headlight. In response to his light touch, the panel popped open. Surprise laced his features. "Your cord…" He touched the empty space where the cable should have been coiled.

Jazz made a quiet revving noise, taking Prowl's hand in his. He was smart to duck his head beneath Prowl's chin, pressing their frames together, so that he could not spot the lie in his optics.

"It was gone when Ah came online," he said. "Ratchet must have harvested it ta replace someone else's. Don't worry, Ah can get another."

Although something in the words bothered him, Prowl let it go. "All we need is one, anyways. Mine will work just as well." His panel clicked open smartly. Before he could tug out the cable, Jazz had it pinched between his claws, sliding the end into his port. Connection forged, their frames synchronized. They shuddered as they fell into each other, embracing the storm that was their partner's mind. Prowl's arms snaked around Jazz's lithe frame, turning them both so that he was on his back and Jazz was situated comfortably on top, both still sheltered under the protection of the fir tree. A shudder passed through them as sensation raced through their frames, neural wires brought to life, quivering in anticipation.

Jazz's mind was a whirl of thoughts, sights, sounds, impressions. Had Prowl not been expecting to brush up against such a storm, it probably would have put him in stasis. In abandon, he let his thoughts touch the storm and be swept away. He knew the thought patterns so well, had memorized the pathways. Where once it had been chaos, Prowl could now see organization at a level that was so complex it rivalled the best encrypted mainframe. The chaos embraced him fully, and in the chaos Jazz grinned and delved into Prowl in return, touching a mind that was curiously spotless. At first glance, seemingly empty, but in truth so locked down and reinforced that it resembled a fortress. All it took was the gentlest of touches for the walls to crumble and Jazz was welcomed in to the most intimate places of Prowl's psyche.

Again, they shuddered, groaning. They revelled in no longer being alone, no longer separate. Primus, it felt so good to sink home.

Curious, Prowl accessed Jazz's memories. Even more curious, Jazz tensed a moment before he read Prowl's intentions. It had been a long time since Jazz had been wary of letting Prowl in; very rarely did he have something to hide, and when he did, he hid the evidence well enough that Prowl would never know. Nevertheless, Jazz opened up after that brief drawback, allowing the mech to seek out the memories, or lack there of. Steady mental-fingers touched the orn Mission City had become a battle ground. A ghost of heat seared both their frames as Megatron took hold of Jazz's arms and legs, ripping him in two. Prowl groaned mournfully, shushed by the living presence of Jazz reminding him that all was not over. A brief blankness overtook the files, and then what Prowl felt was the curious sensation of energy sinking through his chest. Not liquid, gas, nor solid; he felt the moment Jazz's spark came home. Where it touched, the metal came to life, retained the memory of life.

"See? That's all there is," Jazz murmured into Prowl's audio, stroking the sides of the mech's faceplate. "Not very interesting."

"This is what I remember," Prowl said softly, selecting the appropriate file and passing it to Jazz. Immediately, the memory was opened to view.

"_Primus_," Jazz exclaimed. He felt the moment the Allspark had adhered to Prowl's palm, the panic that overcame him as he fought to keep his spark was being yanked from him. The saboteur shuddered as Prowl succeeded in resisting having his life stolen from him; in real time, both mechs sighed in relief as the memory of the internal pressure passed.

"I get the distinct impression I was being tested then," Prowl said, mouthplates brushing over Jazz's horn-like crests.

Jazz nuzzled closer, undulating against the frame beneath him, activating a series of well-timed magnetic pulses to delight them both. "Ya were in a bad way, Prowl. Ah would'a tested ya, too- just ta make sure Ah wasn't wasting mah time."

Prowl nodded, arching. His hands skimmed down Jazz's sides, careful of crossing the weld. He slipped his fingers beneath Jazz's armour just as the moment struck when the metaphorical door Optimus had spoken of opened. A rush unlike anything previously felt ghosted through them from the memory. It was a mere shade of the reality, but close enough for Jazz's optics to flash, taken in by such a novel feeling. Like standing on the edge of a cliff and looking out at an ocean that never ended.

A surprise flush of heat flooded Jazz. He groaned, curling into Prowl. His hands locked into the crevices they had delved into. To his own great shock, he heard his own voice echoing in Prowl's mind. Not physically spoken, but from elsewhere.

_Finally_, he heard himself say without remembering ever speaking the words. _Took ya long enough_.

"Ah called to ya…" Jazz murmured wondrously as he stared down into his lover's optics. If he had had the capacity to call, then somehow he had existed. _He existed_. Did that mean he hadn't been as dead as he thought? Could his spark have existed elsewhere?

Prowl's fingers tightened where they held, dragging them together, impossibly close. "Yes, you did."

They may not have been grappling with each other, playing to ravenous delights, yet tension kept building higher. Heat flooded their systems, turning their insides to churning, roiling, succulent liquid. Fire continued to be stoked. Cooling fans whirred. Coolant bubbled. The snow around them turned liquid, and then to steam.

Prowl urged Jazz to pay close attention to the last of the memory- the most important one. The saboteur acquiesced, avidly watching. His spark skipped as the sensation of reaching out gripped him; he felt it though Prowl, felt the desperation, the soaring of his spark. He knew the other side of the coin, felt himself reaching back from whatever place he had been.

"Ah," he sighed as the memory of the connection washed over him, feeling his spark struggle across that too-small bridge between this reality and the other. An explosion of emotion burst forth from the file, filling them both, sending them reeling. Jazz tossed his head back, crying out. Prowl's emotions, when released, were always so uncontrolled, uninhibited, as if he felt ten thousand times what a normal mech could. Teetering in the aftermath, Jazz shook his head to clear it, trying to make sense of the thousand revelations hitting him at once. He felt like a tension wire pulled so taut that one stray caress would snap him.

A pair of hands framing his faceplate drew Jazz down, his forehead brought to a feverishly warm storm-grey one. While the memory file closed and faded, the mechs left in the moment were still strung tight. Quivering. Undulating. Hot air steamed from their vents along their necks, down their sides, leaving them obscured by a silvery, evanscent veil.

Prowl suddenly reached out and wrapped himself around Jazz's mind, taking hold of it and spinning the saboteur's world off its axis. He was not normally the aggressor between them. When the mood struck him, he had the considerable skills to take the reins and draw out the experience to shattering heights. Not many had the skill to scatter Jazz's wits. Blow aside all his senses. Prowl, when he set his mind to it, had the skill and talent in spades. He delved deep into their forged connection, summoning a wild storm of sensation that shot fire through Jazz's frame. It looped back around to Prowl so strongly his frame arched, a strangled gasp rattling the air. Emboldened, he attacked again, seeking out the most pleasurable hiding spots in Jazz's mind, activating them and setting the saboteur's mind into overdrive. The backlash was nothing short of wild, sending them writhing in pleasured spasms across the damp earth.

Hands closed about Jazz's wrists, holding him tight. Their gazes locked. Optics flickering darkly as passion ran amuck in their depths. Prowl leaned up, rubbing the side of his head to Jazz's. His mouthplates were but a mere breath away from his audios. A shuddering rush of words tumbled out just as a tidal wave of explosive, star-shattering, overload-inducing sensation pushed them both over the precipice.

"I don't want to lose you again."

They shattered with reckless abandon. Tossing their heads back, they called out their ecstasy. Felt as if their sparks had expanded beyond the confines of their sparkcases, touching each other in astral caresses. Their unforgiving metal frames writhed mindlessly, so fiercely wild that sparks erupted between them.

Jazz collapsed first, laughing breathlessly. He buried his faceplate into Prowl's heated front, arms draped comfortably to the sides. In the pleasant afterglow, not even his weld hurt. "That was exactly what Ah needed, Prowler. Thanks."

Beneath him, Prowl jerked as if in the grip of one last aftershock. His spark signature faded. Coldness seeped into Jazz through their still-connected frames. When a hand rose to brush lovingly along his faceplate, Jazz knew it was not Prowl. Disgust roared through him. Horror. He tried to wrench away, but Prowl's arms locked like a vice around him.

"You are such a tricky little pest. I should have expected this from you."

"Fallen," Jazz hissed, bristling.

Amber optics flashed, a grin appearing. "You didn't think you could double-cross the original double-crosser and get away with it, did you?"

"Get outta Prowl!" Jazz snarled, immediately trying to wrench away. His struggles were in vain.

The Fallen was unaffected, aside from amusement. "There's a price to pay for not giving me what I want."

"Ah gave ya exactly what Ah said Ah would! Ya agreed to it!" A sharp hand shot up, pressing Prowl's faceplate into the ground. Not enough to harm the mech, but enough to cover the malevolent amber optics staring up at him.

"Semantics," the Fallen spat, shaking aside the hand pinning him. He sat up, taking Jazz with him. It seemed no effort to keep the silver mech where he wanted him. Prowl had always been strong, but the Fallen was beyond that.

"Ah would'a thought you'd be impressed," Jazz snarled. He would have slashed at the faceplate, if only it wouldn't harm Prowl. Primus, he would have transformed his arm into its gatling gun mode and opened fire if only it wasn't Prowl he'd be aiming at. "Ah bet it's not every orn a _pest_ gets one over on ya."

"No, it's not. You're unique in that respect." Loathing dripped from his words, spat from his mouthplates as if they were the foulest tasting tar.

"Like Ah told ya before, Ah'm just observant." His optics flashed, fury churning in them.

"Yes, you are." Sharp fingers caught his chin, clenching it tight, wrenching his faceplate one way, and then the other. "It's your greatest gift, isn't it?" The Fallen leaned close, optics narrowed dangerously. "To see what others can't; to see into another bot and be able to read their spark as an open story."

"Got one up on you, didn't Ah?" Jazz spat, straining to lean away. "Useful talent like that."

"Such an effort shouldn't go unrewarded, now should it?" the Fallen hissed.

Jazz froze, his expression feral. "Ah swear ta Primus, you hurt Prowl and Ah'll find a way ta kill you."

"Oh no, I'm not going to kill him, I'm going to do something much worse. To you." Menace crossed Prowl's features, the Fallen's optics glowing like miniature infernos. A poisonous smile melted across his mouthplates. "Jazz, you who sees what others can't, in return for taking away what was most important to me, I'm going to take away what is most important to you-."

"No-!"

_"Your optics."_

Jazz gave a short roar, doubling his efforts to get away. All to no avail. The Fallen laughed richly, coldly, revelling in the futility.

"Let the last thing you ever see be that of your lover's faceplate as he takes away your sight."

The tip of a single finger pressed to the middle of Jazz's forehead. No more than a touch, an explosion of agony erupted through his head regardless. Every passing moment, the agony reached new heights. Jazz could not scream loud enough to match the torture. Prowl's faceplate was alive before him, grinning madly. When Jazz could take no more, he shuttered his optics. A physical tension snapped in his head, behind his optics, followed by the chilling sensation of something being drawn out. Slowly, coldly. Icy tendrils trailed down his face, making his tanks churn sickly. The feeling of _loss_ froze his spark.

Prowl's mouthplates were once more at Jazz's audios, but it was the Fallen who spoke. "Let this be a lesson to you. Revenge of the Fallen is not something you should take lightly."

Without warning, Prowl's spark signature returned. Jazz flailed wildly to get away as soon as the Fallen's grip on him released. Prowl had not come back to himself enough to resist, allowing the silver mech to shoot away as if thrown by electrical shock.

"Jazz!? Jazz, what's the matter!?" Prowl shouted, diving forward as Jazz's back hit the tree, his whole frame unleashed like a wild animal. He was clawing at his faceplate so violently he was scoring the metal. Drew gouges down the plates. Shocked, Prowl wrestled with his lover, trying desperately to capture his wrists. He needed to stop the mech before he clawed his own optics out! "Stop that, Jazz! You're going to hurt yourself! What's the matter?! Calm down!"

Using much of his weight to subdue the smaller mech, Prowl finally managed to pin Jazz and get a look at why he had been clawing at his optics. Unadulterated horror rocked through him. Repulsion. Shock. Absolute speechlessness. Jazz panted rabidly, blinking fiercely as if to clear his vision. It would do him no good, though.

His optics had been removed.


	43. We Dream

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- I'm happy that you were able to write as much as you did, being as tired as you were. I'm even happier that you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you so much for reviewing. ^_^

**Jideni3**- Unfortunately, as you will see, the has taken a lot more than just Jazz's physical optics. If the Big Bad wants to hurt someone, he's not about to go halves on anything… As for Blaster and his lawn chairs, the facebook pages… glad you got a kick out of that. =P

**SternEase**- Wow, I can't even begin to tell you how much your review made my day! There's so much enthusiasm in it! Your love for Jazz and Prowl really shines through. ^_^ I think you're also one of the few readers who picked up on the fact that I look all of the old "ideas" about Jazz's visor, like him being blind and/or having red optics, and I put a brand new spin on that. It's just my way of tipping my hat to some wonderful fanon ideas. =) Now that Jazz has had his sight stolen from him, it might drive a greater wedge between him and the Autobot, more specifically him and Prowl, or it might bring them closer together. Only time will tell…

**C-Wolfeh**- Heh, if someone just came along and destroyed the Fallen, the story would end right here and then no one would be able to find out what amazing things I have in store for the future. =P Although, I am happy that you enjoyed the lighthearted scene at the beginning. Writing comedy with the TFs is too fun! =D

**Starrie Wolf**- Ah, I understand the heartache that it can cause when someone goes about breaking OTPs. . That being said, I'm flattered that you were able to appreciate Sunstreaker and Prowl's interaction. ^_^ With Jazz now in the picture, it's unlikely that Sunny and Prowl will seek each other out. However, you're rather insightful bringing up the fact that Jazz keeps losing parts of himself. As calculating as he may be, he'd the kind of mech to sacrifice himself for others without thinking of how the consequences to himself may affect others…

**Flameshield**- lol~ You caught me red-handed! It's no fun if I'm not adding a new twist every chapter. XD The Fallen is the ultimate twister, at that. He's a dangerous creature, at that…

**Independent C**.- What comes around goes around, indeed! And even more accurate idiom for the chapter would be "an eye for eye" =P Jazz went to quite a length to show that he's not evil, nor evil's servant; something tells me he wouldn't rest peacefully with the idea of being anyone's servant. As for his choice not to reveal to Prowl the Fallen's involvement…Jazz is a wise mech, and he knows when someone's not ready to know that monsters are real, and they're closer then you'd like to think. And regarding the brain bleach… you may want to save it for the actual event. ^^;

**Kittisbat**- No, my friend, I can't imagine many Autobots are going to be very happy with what has happened to Jazz. Whether Jazz chooses to tell them the truth of what happened and if they all believe him is another story all together… However, I'm so happy that you're so invested in the story! =D There are no better compliments than the ones you gave me. Thank you so much~ I'm honoured. *hugs*

**Nitrostreak**- I couldn't resist, it was too good an opportunity not to poke fun at ROTF! XD This is quite a dense story, but don't worry, the end is near and the threads are all starting to come together. :)

**KyuubiSango**- I'll take it by your expression that you were quite shocked. *o*

**Luck-of-the-Irishman**- Goodness, you're quite the poet, aren't you? I read your review several times just to better savour it! I loved not only the flow of it, but also the insight and questions asked. Will Jazz be able to help Punch? Will Prowl be able to help Jazz? Will anyone be able to stop the Fallen? All very good questions, my friend! I'd answer them right here and now if only that wouldn't ruin the story. ^_^;

**Bluebird Soaring**- I wondered of your reaction to this chapter most of all, my friend. Every time I right for Jazz and Prowl, I think of you and your love for the pairing- makes me want to get them just right. ^_^ It seems I shocked you thoroughly, though. Which is partially what I was going for, but still… At least Jazz and Prowl have each other now. Together, they'll work through this.

**Chloo**- Ah, the dilemma of Punch/Counterpunch: Doubledealer/Dealer. They're going to be four that you'll have to keep your eyes on. If you've ever seen movies where a computer program takes on a life of its own, it never turns out well… As for Jazz and Prowl, they are quickly becoming by all-time favourite pairing! You have no idea how heartening it is to read your enthusiasm for them! =D Writing interfacing and/or sparkbonding scenes has always been a treat, always different for each pairing, but Jazz and Prowl hold such special chemistry… I'm happy you enjoy their separate characters, and how they are when they are together. As for the loss of Jazz's optics, I do believe that the Fallen never does things by halves. If the monster wanted Jazz sight, he would have made it so Jazz could never see again…

**Balrog Roike**- Hmmm, by the sounds of things, you're beginning to really invest yourself in the storyline and the possibilities that may come of it. I'm a firm believer that everyone is gifted in some way or another, but not everyone supernaturally touched. Jazz's ability to read others was purely his ability. What it will take to destroy the Fallen remains shrouded in the far distant future…

**Ragnarok347**- It was a surprise that everyone knew was coming, is that what you were trying to say? =P There's no way that anyone is going to take this slight against Jazz laying down, but the question remains- are they prepared to believe that monsters exist?

**FunkyFish1991**- Yay! You made it before I posted the chapter! *cheers* You actually made just as I got home and started nibbling on my supper. As ever, you're timing is impeccable! And your insight is inspiring! Go figure your English teacher would help you figure out why you love the Twins so much. You really must thank your teacher for such assistance! XD I never thought of them as Byronic heroes before, but now that you mention it… it all makes such bizarre sense! *o* And all the cool Robot Things you listed off were such a great kick! XD My favourites happen to be '_Robot Thing 5: Their thumbs are cooler than yours_' and '_Robot Thing 6 (and 1): They can record your sex face and email or Facebook it to people 8D'_ YES! Because that is what every robot wants to do! XD At least Jazz has the face saved, because it's not like he'll be seeing one again any time soon. =(

Special thanks and credit to the usual crew: **FunkyFish1991, Litahatchee, Lecidre, Bunnylass, SylentNyte**, and **Violetlight**.

Special note: **FunkyFish** did an extraordinary artistic piece for the last chapter entitled '_Just Promise One Thing'_. Anyone who is a Jazz/Prowl lover should check it out on dA!

**As We Come Together  
In Which We Dream**

It was one of those dreams again. No, he couldn't exactly call them _dreams_. Not any kind of dream anyone would ever want to have, anyways.

They were nightmares, really- the kind that had haunted him ever since Mission City. They were the kind of nightmares that flitted about his head even while he was awake, replaying their horrific details when he had nothing else to distract him. When he slept, they were like hellhounds off-leash in his head, able to leave his brain raw and scraped like sandpaper. They were nightmares of the sort that left him in cold sweats in the aftermath, lying awake for hours until dawn heralded the sun and banished his lingering demons.

When they came, they had substance.

Not just the unnerving sort of twisted carnival that mutated inside your head while you left. It wasn't just a jumble of images, or vague stories, or distant morbid curiosities that prickled down the spine. These were the kinds of nightmares of a moment in time lived twice. In the dreamscape, the details that were burned into his retinas came to life again. The screams of humans and jet turbines ricocheted off the inside of his skull; plasma fire burned the air, singed his skin, the hot air of it seared his lungs. The world itself trembled as several tons' worth of metal fury went head to head through the streets, tearing buildings asunder as if they were the mere dollhouses of gods.

It had been a good few weeks since his last nightmare, but Sam recognized it for what it was the moment his nostrils burned with the scent of flaming car tires and scorched asphalt.

He knew from the moment thunder sounded behind him that he had to run. Every dream, every time, the beat of the thunder was the same- like the heartbeat of a giant pounding in his ears. With each successive explosion, the ground would shake. Sometimes, a tremor would be so bad that he would stumble. Megatron's footsteps were always the same; never faster, never slower. They pounded away like drumbeats that rolled through Sam's chest, compressed his lungs and banged his heart out of rhythm.

In some dreams, Megatron was close- so close that the air would ripple behind Sam's head where he narrowly missed having his head taken off. Other nightmares, the footsteps were farther away. It was at that very first step, no matter how close or how far Megatron was, that set Sam's adrenaline running on high. His heart pumped so fast that the rhythm became a hum. As automatic as jerking away from a burn, he knew to run when the cacophony of pounding footfalls came.

In most nightmares, Sam was nothing but a puppet to the show. There was nothing he could do as the Allspark's sharp edges bit into his arms, one of the corners driving into his chest. He wouldn't know who he was or what he was doing- he was only driven to run, run until his legs burned and his lungs gave out. He would wake only when the terror got to him- when Megatron finally caught him in his fist and crushed him, or tore him in half like Jazz. There was never a happy ending to nightmares. He would wake with a scream- loud, mindless, sometimes followed by a sob. In the aftermath, flashes of Mission City would assail him, flaying his already raw mind. He'd rub his hands against his sheets to try to rid his palms of the tingling heat that lingered there.

In other dreams, Sam was lucid. Those dreams were worst than mindless ones, because he knew who he was, what he was doing, and how this dream wasn't real yet he was trapped in it until the end. These were the dreams where he could choose to run left instead of right, running an unwinnable rat race through a city that became a labyrinth. The metal Minotaur was always on his heels. In these dreams, Sam knew Megatron was dead. Knew that everything he saw wasn't real. That only made it worse when he knew he couldn't escape until Megatron caught and killed him, again and again and again.

As the nightmare materialized around him now, Sam knew it what day it really was- New Year's Eve, not that godforsaken day back in May. The last thing he remembered was partying with Mikaela and Miles, plus Miles' family and coven in the Lancasters' backyard. Miles' brother had handed him a glass; the punch tasted funny… Details went fuzzy after that. However, Sam knew unequivocally that that was reality, and _this_- hot asphalt and concrete towers, an empty warzone pursued by a single monster- was the dream.

Yet when he tripped in his dreamscape and tasted blood in his mouth, he knew this nightmare was just as real as reality ever was, even if it was only in his head.

Spitting blood, he took off again through the now-familiar streets of Mission City. Megatron was there- just glimpses of him coming around corners, glaring between buildings. A roar shook the air, shattering panes of glass. Sam dodged to the side to avoid being sliced to ribbons. His shoulder rammed into a streetlight, jerking him around. The Cube fell out of his arms, banging into the post of a stop sign before flinging into the street. Cursing wildly, Sam dived for the Cube. He didn't know why he dove for it- this was all just a dream, after all- but he did, wrapping it tight in his arms. He tensed to take off again when the glare of the stop sign caught his attention. It didn't say STOP. The glyphs weren't even English. Twisted, elegant… _alien_.

"The hell…?"

Megatron's never-ending footfalls pounded closer, causing scattered shale along the pavement to shiver. Shaking off the odd stop sign, Sam ran again. He was grateful for Bumblebee's continued help in endurance and speed training in his waking life. Even in his dreams, Sam could still race the wind.

As if the stop sign had been a catalyst, Sam started to notice other oddities in his dreamscape that he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't running fast enough to miss the fact that other signs weren't written in English. Where a car was supposed to be parked, something else took its place, sleek and level like a car but missing the essential elements such as doors or windows. A building he flew by soared higher than any skyscraper Mission City had to offer, metal and glass glinting in the muted tones of Sam's dream-conjured light. With only a vague impression, Sam knew a building like that didn't belong on Earth at all…

Daring a glance over his shoulder, Sam caught yet another glimpse of Megatron. He, too, was not quite right. The shape was the same, but the metal was darker. Not grey-silver anymore. Made from a darker metal, like bluish-black midnight; polished obsidian mirrors. Sam's gaze darted up to the optics. Megatron's optics had never been that malevolent.

Whatever stared out Megatron's optics made Sam run faster.

The strangely light burden of the Allspark grew hot in his arms. It had never done that before. Not in his dreams, at least. In the real Mission City, he'd gotten hit by that car, felt the Cube's solid presence ram into him, and as he fell, he reached out to catch himself- strange how the pavement felt like it reached back. Searing heat had lashed up his arms in that moment. His nerves electrified. Things came to life.

Never, ever, ever, had the Allspark done that in his dreams.

Until now.

Why was it reacting now?

'_What the hell is going on?' _

Up ahead, sweet relief was in sight- the tall white building with the statues on top. The building Captain William Lennox had ordered him to run to on that fateful day. No matter how long any of these nightmares chose to drag on, Sam could always depend on Megatron catching him here. Strange how he looked forward to some gruesome death just so he could wake up. Kicking the door open, he stumbled in. Out of breath, dizzy as hell, he searched for familiarity only to instinctually feel difference. Yet again, the details were _off_. Just like in the rest of his dreamscape. The windows weren't as grimy; the light was too bright. Motes of dust were golden instead of grey. Regardless, Sam bolted for the stairs, taking them three at a time. He could hear the thunder of Megatron closing in all around.

"_Shit! Shit-shit-shit-shit-!" _Panting his mantra, Sam ran the last leg of his dream, knowing it would all end the moment he hit the roof.

Up the stairs. Up. Up. Up. Running until he felt like he was about to vomit, until his head swam and his throat burned. Hitting the last length of stairs, Sam threw his head up in desperate hopes to see the exit to the roof. His nostrils flared wide as a new scent assaulted him- no longer mould, plaster, and dust. No acrid smell of his rancid breath panting from his dry, cracked mouth. No ghost taste of blood lingering on his tongue. The curious scent was sweet_._

That's when Sam became aware that he was no longer alone in the stairwell. Megatron had yet to catch up. Truth be told, the sounds of the monster were becoming increasingly muffled, yet the unmistakable prickle of awareness down his skin heralded another presence nearby. A disturbance in the rising motes of dust drew his gaze sharply. Something stood there, unformed. Less than the shadow of a ghost. It was watching him.

"…_Sam?" _

The Allspark suddenly came alive in his arms. A pulse beat from it, louder than cannon fire. Blue light filled the stairwell. A white-hot shock of electricity lanced up his arms-! –And then he was suddenly bolting up from a bed, throwing off a comforter he only vaguely noted was covered in Star Wars characters. His tongue felt thick, his breath tasting the same way rubbing alcohol smelled.

"Sam? _Sam!_" A pair of strong hands shot to his shoulders, gripping him tight. The bite of nails on his skin startled him further to wakefulness. "Wake up! Oh my god, just wake up already!"

Throwing his eyes open, Mikaela's face materialized in his line of sight. "You're awake! Thank god!" She dragged him into her arms, hugging him viciously. A few shaky kisses fluttered down the side of his neck.

To her right and over her shoulder stood Tungsten, the drone's blank face staring at Sam with an absent intensity. Sam stared back, gripping Mikaela as the only solid thing he knew in the room. The drone canted its head, unnerving Sam further with its unblinking stare.

"Meep, meep," it chirped, scanning its assigned charge. Once it determined that Sam was not in immediate danger, it wandered back to the corner it had been ordered to for the night and proceeded to stand there. The dress and party hat Miles had stuck on the drone did nothing to soften the creature's awkwardness in the room.

Sam put a hand to his head, feeling the steady throb of a headache beginning between his eyes. He reached for the lamp next to Miles' bed, but Mikaela was there first, snapping the light off. She was even kind enough to detach her nails from the crescent moons she'd dug in his skin. It took a moment for Sam's eyes to adjust to the dimmer settings, seeing only by the rainbow of party lights strung about the Lancasters' backyard for the occasion coming through the window. When Mikaela turned back to him, she was visibly shaken, pale even in the gloom.

"You scared me half to death!" she chastised, nearly hissing.

"Sorry?" Sam replied absently, a little breathless. Still trying to get his bearings, he tried to figure out how he'd gotten from the backyard to his best friend's bedroom. Nothing came to mind, except now he was extremely suspicious of whatever Brett had put into the punch.

Hurried footsteps in the hall warned of the coming of others.

"Miles went to get his mom," Mikaela warned, shooting to her feet to cover Tungsten with a sheet before Miles came in with Selina Lancaster on his heels.

The door shooed open, ushering in the expected pair. Miles was just a bit dazed, looking paler than usual in the cool shadows. Sam noted his friend was divested of his long-sleeved shirt and was currently wearing nothing but a bunch of sparkling plastic beads across his chest. His hand was in his mother's as he tugged her in, urging her to Sam's side. When he saw Sam was awake, the vivid look of panic in his eyes faded to something milder.

"_Dude_," Miles breathed, shaking his head. He pushed his mother to the mattress. "Just look at him, mom. Make sure he's not going to do it again."

"Do what?" Sam croaked.

Mikaela shook her head, lips pressed into a firm line. She looked to the elder woman searchingly. "He woke up not even a minute ago."

"That's always a good sign," the woman replied softly, easing onto the mattress while Mikaela slid off.

Sam made an effort to sit up for Selina, who shushed him and immediately went into nurse-mode. She was a woman of remarkable resemblance to her son, with her tall, willowy frame and long, freckled limbs. Her hair was a waterfall of braids and curls tumbling down haphazardly to mid-back, framing a long, thin face featuring moon-huge eyes the colour of shadows on snow. She had a look of a woman who routinely protested animal testing and nuclear power, supported the use of medicinal marijuana, and was the pure-blood Wiccan her mother raised her to be. Sam had always adored Miles' mother for as long as he had known her, loving her like a second mother; she, in turn, treated Sam like another unruly son.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked, inspecting Sam's eyes, turning his face between her palms. His cheeks were pink, a little too warm for her liking. His pupils were discs of black against the stark paleness of the whites of his eyes. A thin sheen of sweat dampened his brow.

"My head hurts," Sam admitted. Miles and Mikaela wisely hung back, watching with anxious interest. They notably had backed up to shield Tungsten from Selina's notice.

"Hmmmmm, I would think it would," she said quietly. "You didn't drink or eat anything funny did you? I didn't think there was anything out on the table you were allergic to…"

"There was punch," Sam said slowly, giving his head a good shake that only managed to make the room spin. "Brett gave it to me. I'm pretty sure it was spiked, a lot."

"Ah," said Selina, frowning a little more. She reached to turn Miles' bedside lamp on, but ceased to do so when she noted Sam's grimace away from the expected light. "A migraine?"

"No." Sam dared shake his head a little, only to feel nauseous after doing so.

"Sick?"

"A little."

Selina immediately turned to her son- "Sweetheart-?"

"Ginger?" Miles piped in.

"Bring up two capsules and some water for him to take."

Miles trotted out of the room, not even gone a full minute before he was back up with the requisite ginger and water. Under Selina's trained eyes, Sam downed the ginger and water, closing his eyes tight as it all went down. The pads of a pair of thumbs smoothed over his cheeks.

"There now, better?" Selina asked.

Peeling away from the woman's hands, Sam drew in a couple deep breaths. "A little," he sighed. The scents of his dreamscape were traded for the smell of stale pizza hidden somewhere in Miles' room and Selina's evanescent scent of spices and herbs. He was about to ask again what had gotten everyone tied in so many knots when Selina gracefully slid to her feet.

"Well, that's all I can do for now. It's over and you seem fine, and that's all that counts." Her pale eyes turned on the pair of teens standing on guard in the corner. "If it happens again, tell me right away."

Mikaela and Miles glanced at each other, then to Selina, nodding quickly.

With a swish of her loose hemp pants, Selina swept from the room to rejoin the party outside. Mikaela was quick to step out from the corner to perch on the vacated edge of the mattress, reclaiming Sam's side as is a girlfriend's prerogative. Miles went to the door to make sure his mother was gone before he tossed the sheet off of Tungsten and adjusted the poor drone's party hat and frock.

"Dude," Miles announced while still inspecting the blank-faced drone. "Don't ever do that again, okay? You scared the living shit outta us."

Sam groaned, hunching forward over his drawn up knees. The window was open, a cold breeze sweeping over his sweat-dampened skin, causing him to shudder. The ginger helped a lot to settle his tumbling stomach, but did nothing to settle the trembling in his hands or the racing of his heart, which beat a tattoo against his ribcage as if he actually had been running a race through Mission City with Megatron.

"What happened?" he asked, his words distorted by the muzzled growl in his voice.

Mikaela's fingertips soothed down the quivering muscles of his back. "You… passed out."

Sam leaned into his girlfriend's touch. "I figured as much. Did I miss the new year?"

"You were conscious for it," she replied reluctantly, lips pursed. "Whether or not you remember is another story…"

"Did I get _that_ drunk?" Sam groaned.

Miles sat at the end of the mattress, a rainfall of beads clattering with him. He looked like he just came from a very flamboyant Mardi Gras parade. "You are such a light-weight," he admonished. "We all knew the punch was loaded. You only had- what? Three cups? Four? We knew you were hammered when you started rocking out to Hannah Montana."

Sam covered his face with his hands. All fear of his most recent nightmare was replaced with abject humiliation. "Please tell me I passed out soon after that."

"Yeah, sure, like not even two minutes after the song," Miles assured. "Right into a lilac bush."

Sam groaned even louder, shaking his head dejectedly.

"We carried you in the house," Mikaela informed, rubbing his back. She had had a lot more punch than either boy, but thankfully it took a lot more to knock her off her feet. "We had to bring you up here before Brett started drawing on your face with permanent marker."

Sam looked from one friend to the other, somewhat pleading, somewhat scared to find out what happened next. "Okay, I get all that, but what about the whole scaring-the-shit-out-of-you part? What happened there? Why call the witch-doctor?"

Mikaela looked to her lap. "You started having another nightmare," she said quietly, almost a whisper. She knew the signs too well, what it sounded like when Sam was first immersed into the throes of a nightmare, how he twisted and turned as his mind worked. The nights in the summer when they spent the night together, sometimes she'd been jolted awake by him, watching until he shot awake not long after.

"It was pretty messed up, man." Miles, who was still learning about all the changes and traumas his best friend had come under since Mission City, had never been privy to one of Sam's nightmares before. Seeing one for the first time reminded him of the time his grandfather had had a seizure at the dinner table and ended up flinging a bowl of chocolate pudding all over his least-favourite aunt. Only this time there was no chocolate pudding involved.

"_And?"_ Sam prompted, sensing that Mikaela was drawing up short.

"And…" Mikaela chewed her bottom lip, obviously still worried. "It was weird- all of a sudden, you went really, really still. And then you stopped breathing."

A cold shiver of something Sam couldn't name slithered down his spine. "I what?"

"Stopped breathing," she repeated. It was obviously hard for her to get the words out. "We didn't notice at first, but then your chest wasn't rising, you turned really pale-." Her face turned down, her hair falling like a dark curtain to hide her expression. "We freaked out- tried everything to wake you, and nothing worked…"

"I had to go get Mom," Miles said, picking up where Mikaela trailed off. "I thought maybe she would know what to do, but when we came back, you were awake."

Sure, he was awake, except now that he knew what had been happening while he slept, he felt distinctly sicker. Raking his hands through his hair, he let out a long, shaky breath.

"You're okay now, right?" Miles asked cautiously.

"I don't know," Sam replied weakly. "This is so fucked up." Somehow… somehow, it felt as if the nightmare was responsible for it all. He wanted something to blame, and being so vulnerable at the moment, a fucked up nightmare seemed the perfect outlet to let out his frustrations on. He wanted to be irrational and juvenile and curl up in Mikaela's arms and just let her hold him until the shaking stopped. Whatever had been in his dreams with him… he didn't want to think about it.

"You want us to call someone?" Mikaela wondered quietly. "Your parents, Dr Spring, or maybe Bumblebee… Ratchet?"

"Don't bother," Sam groaned. "There's nothing they can do. It was just a bit of sleep apnea, okay? Some people just stop breathing in their sleep. It's a fact of life."

"Yeah, but-."

"But nothing. I'm not dead, not hurt, and only marginally scarred for life. I just don't want to talk about it anymore, okay? Let it go." Sam insisted, a little more forcefully than he meant. Realizing the affronted and hurt looks he was receiving from his two friends, he sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry- I didn't mean… Look, I just want to lie down and pretend it didn't happen. Selina said I'm fine now, so I'm fine." About as fine as a teen could be while having a private, internal panic attack. To hide any evidence of said panic attack, he lay back down and turned on his side, putting his back to his friends.

Mikaela looked to Miles, reaching over to grasp his hand. "You go back outside with the others. I'll stay here," she said.

Miles rose, looking from Mikaela to the window and back. Obviously he wanted to be out in the backyard, but loyalty to his best bro-friend kept him close. "You sure?" he wondered.

"Go."

With a clatter of beads, Miles left to rejoin the party. Sam found himself acutely aware of his girlfriend as she remained sitting behind him. The heat that radiated through the sheets from her made her real, comforting in a way that no words would describe. A very solid presence when it felt like the world was slipping out from underneath him. She watched him for a minute longer, tracing the outline of his body through the Star Wars comforter before expertly scooting beneath the sheets to stretch out along his back, pressing herself to him.

"Sam, you can tell me what's wrong," she murmured lowly, sliding her arm over him for a hug. Sam grasped her hand, squeezing. His palms felt raw, galvanized. Against her own skin, his felt too thin, too hot, too sensitive.

"It's nothing," he whispered lowly.

"It's never nothing with you," Mikaela countered.

Sam shook his head ruefully, knowing her words to be too true. "I _wish_ it was nothing."

"We can't all get what we wish for, or I would have gotten a pony for my sixth birthday," Mikaela joked quietly, succeeding in rousting a muted chuckle from Sam. She leaned her forehead into the center of his back, trying to comfort him for something she had no comprehension of.

"If… if I tell you, you won't think I'm crazy, will you?" Sam murmured. "Promise me?

"I promise," she breathed, sensing that he really needed to hear the words out loud. Sam sagged deeper into the mattress, relieved for all but a second before he heaved a sigh in preparation to spill all to his girlfriend.

"It felt like someone else was in my head," he croaked. "It wasn't a regular nightmare at all- it felt as if someone was waiting for me… or trying to _connect_ with me." He shrugged weakly, feeling strangely hollow. "If it hadn't been for the Allspark exploding in my arms, I never would have woken up."

A long silence stretched after that. There was nothing for Mikaela to say. Instead, the arm around Sam tightened, allowing him to take as much support as he needed. Feeling the need more support, Sam turned over, scooping his arms beneath her lithe frame and dragging Mikaela's warm body as close as he dared. A gentle kiss brushed against his brow.

"It was just a dream, Sam. It'll be alright by morning."

"…yeah, morning." He leaned back, meeting Mikaela's glittering gaze under the party lights streaming through the window. "Thanks."

Her lips quirked slightly. "Any time." Her gaze turned puzzled for a moment, hands sliding up to frame his face. "Have your eyes always been this blue?"

"My eyes are brown."

Her smile slid from her lips. "Well, they're blue now."

* * *

Chase woke up staring at the ceiling of her brother's bedroom. As she blinked into the dark, it took a moment to figure out that she was awake. It took another moment to remember where she was.

Being in David's room was not cause for any alarm, only a little irritation. Under normal circumstances, she didn't like sleeping in his ex-room, knowing he'd lived in here, slept in here, _had sex in here_. The thought of sleeping in the same bed Mikaela had been conceived in made her skin crawl. Conditions had improved ever since the old mattress had been thrown out and a new one brought in, but short of getting the local priest to exorcize the place, it would never be completely _her _room to sleep in. It would always be David's. Just like the house would never be _her_ home.

Of course, it was either this or the couch. _Urgh_, the couch. That was only an option when she was drunk or just too damn tired. There was only so much a person could take of sleeping on a piece of lumpy furniture a foot too short to accommodate all of her.

Glancing to the side, she saw the time and groaned. It was way too early to be awake, especially after a night of being out on the town. Recalling it all made her head hurt- lots of booze, partying, and her cheekbone sort of hurt, which meant a fight to top it off. Short of the house falling down around her ears, not a lot could wake her after a night like that. Wouldn't be Mickey waking her- she was at the hippie kid's place with Sam for New Year's. Not the damn dog down the street barking, either. Listening closely, there wasn't even a hint of gurgling drain pipes from the kitchen that could be the culprit.

Turning over, the reason for her early waking became blatantly obvious.

There was a man in her bed.

Normally, this wasn't cause for alarm either. There had been plenty of men in her bed before, but usually she _remembered _bringing them there. Okay, so sometimes she didn't, but seriously-! Wracking her brain for any memory, nothing specific came to mind. Not a speck. That left her with two options: knock the bastard out, or kill him. Before she could do either, a pair of dark eyes turned her way.

"Calm down, it's just me."

Every bit of tension in her was instantly replaced with flat out irritation. _"Hound?"_

"Yep."

Chase's eyes narrowed into a glare, scowling. "You're in my bed."

"Ah know." In the light of the streetlamp outside, he smiled at her.

"But _I'm_ in my bed. _Naked_."

"So?" There was a brief shift beneath the sheets as Hound's hologram adjusted its settings, and then he said, "Now Ah am too."

Chase blinked, waiting for her muzzy brain to process exactly what the alien had said. When it finally clicked, she slapped a hand over her face. "That's not what I meant," she growled between gritted teeth.

Merrily shrugging, Hound shifted on the mattress to get comfortable. "Oh well, too late. You've already seen me naked before, anyways."

A part of Chase wanted to roll her eyes and say 'yeah, and I wasn't impressed' and the other part of her wanted to cop a feel to see if he really was naked. Deciding neither option was wise, she turned onto her stomach to flop face-first into her pillow. From the depths of the cotton and stuffing, she groaned, _"It's too early in the morning to deal with you! Go away!"_

"Awwww, don't be that way," the alien teased playfully. "Ah just got off shift! All Ah wanna do is relax." And by 'relax', he meant 'invade Chase's personal space'. It was growing to be one of his favourite games. The moment his hologram eased up against her body to enjoy the heat radiating off her, proving that he was, indeed, _very naked_, Chase snarled, bristling.

"_Get your naked ass on the other side of the bed!"_

To enforce her order, she curled her legs up, braced the flats of her feet against the rock-hard lines of Hound's side and hip, and shoved as hard as she could. The Autobot hologram proved heavier than he looked, only moving half a foot while Chase herself was nearly tossed from the bed by her own momentum. Luckily, Hound was also faster than he looked. Catching her by an ankle and wrist, he swung her back up with ease.

"See what ya get for being mean ta me?" the Autobot asked laughingly, poking her in the ribs.

"Oh, fuck you." She glared up at the huge dark form towering over her. He sat in the curve of her waist, completely unconcerned with how naked he was. Chase held her nudity in the same regard- Hound had seen her naked enough times to make covering herself moot. When he started to tickle her, she slapped his hand away stubbornly. "Stop that," she ordered.

Hound looked as if he was enjoying himself greatly as he laughingly asked, "Why?"

"Because!"

"That's not an answer, human." He kept tickling her, up her sides, along her hips, over her ribs. Despite hell and her hangover, Chase snorted. _Laughed_. She also swore at him a bit. That only encouraged Hound, who took great delight in employing both his hands to tickle his friend. Transformers weren't that ticklish by nature, but humans were ridiculously so. Chase, for all her posturing, seemed to be quite ticklish.

"_Damn it, Hound!"_ she howled, wriggling, twisting. She tried to kick him, hit him- _anything_, and failed.

"_Damn me what?_" Hound laughed back.

"Go away!" She slapped uselessly, trying to shove away his relentless hands. Had he been human, he would have had smarting welts up his arms and across his exposed chest. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on your perspective, his hologram was not susceptible to such mortal injury. The more she struggled, the more he pressed his relentless attack. Tears were starting to prick at the corners of her eyes from laughing so hard. It did nothing to make her hangover better.

"I'm trying to sleep!" she finally managed to choke out.

Hound grinned. "Really? 'Cause it sounds like you're _laughing_ ta me."

Chase whined, failing to glare properly while being forced to laugh. How long had it been since someone was stupid enough to try to tickle her? How long had it been since she'd laughed so hard? Way too long if she couldn't remember… Yet something wasn't right about this. Not the laughing, but _something_. What was that not-right thing again? Trying to think was so hard while trying to pee herself! It was something important, too! Something about different species… Hound… avoiding him…

"Stop! I can't breathe, you moron!" Chase laughed, a stitch in her side starting to hurt. "I can't breathe!"

Finally, a blessed break in torture came. Hound's hands drew away, allowing Chase to catch her breath and thoughts. Flailing like a turtle on its back, Chase struggled to find her limbs and shove herself up. Panting, raking her hair out of her face with one hand, she suddenly found herself nose-to-nose with a curious, handsome, smiling hologram. He had somehow ended up kneeling between her spread legs, broad palms braced on her thighs as he leaned in. Sable hair was tossed every which way from Chase repeatedly batting him upside the head. His eyes still glittered in the streetlight.

Meeting his lively gaze, Chase almost could have sworn he'd forgotten he wasn't human.

"Hound?"

"Yeah?" His mouth curved even more into a boyish grin. He leaned in a hair's width closer, their noses almost touching.

"Um…" Disgustingly aware of the brief, and completely uncontrollable, flutter in her chest, Chase firmed her jaw. She remembered now why this was wrong. Hound _wasn't_ human. _Wasn't_ like her. The thing currently lying between her legs wasn't even _real_, for god's sake. It was a hologram! The real Hound was a robot. A robot that transformed into a truck. Being friends with him was just fine, granted Hound didn't give her much of a choice, but beyond that- the look in his eyes as he met her stare…

That wasn't a bridge she was willing to cross. Not with him.

Mirage was right: Earthlings and Cybertronians were two _very_ different species. Hound forgot that too easily.

Black eyes turning sharp as shards of glass, Chase reached for her pillow and whacked him across the face with it. Hound yelped in fright, jerking away. Fuelled by exhaustion, desperation, and another emotion she couldn't quite name, Chase pressed her attack. She whacked him like a school girl at a slumber party with a vendetta against another girl, only she had the muscle to make even a pillow hurt.

"Hey! Hey! Stop that!" A pair of strong hands shot through her attack, seizing her wrists. Hound's long legs uncurled from beneath him and bracketed her own. In one easy roll, he had her pinned to the mattress, his expression bewildered. _"Are you still drunk?"_

"Get off me!"

Surprised by the shrill note her voice took on, Hound jerked away, wisely moving off her body. He moved to one side of the bed while Chase quickly dragged herself to the other. Her weapon of choice, the now raggedy looking pillow, lay forgotten between them. She still panted, but for a different reason now. A guarded look had come into her eyes, making the black seem blacker as she glared at him.

"What did Ah do?" Hound asked, hands up in a hopefully placating manner.

Seeing he honestly had no idea what was the matter, and finding that she really didn't have the heart to ruin the friendship that had somehow formed between them, Chase looked to the side, clenching her jaw so tight it hurt. As handsome as his hologram was, it was still a hologram. As fascinating as his real self was, he was still a robot. As great as it was hanging out with all 23 feet and 3 tons of Hound, it couldn't go beyond that. Finally easing the muscles in her jaw enough to speak, she growled tightly,

"You didn't do anything. I have a headache, and I only got to bed an hour ago." Ducking her head to rub her cheek against her shoulder, she admitted grittily, "and I'm still probably drunk." That last excuse would probably best explain any and all untoward feelings she may or may not have had concerning a hologram belonging to a robotic friend who never seemed to go away.

Hound, to his credit, didn't look like he believed a word of it. Also to his credit, he wisely refused to call the human's bluff. Instead, he quietly asked, "Ya want me ta leave?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. She even wet her lips to make the words slip out easier, yet what she said came out sounding suspiciously like, "No, don't. You can stay- _with clothes_." As soon as she said it, she regretted it. How hard was it to tell him to _go away_? She did it all the time to everyone else!

He watched her for a moment, trying to gauge her, and then he acquiesced with a nod. His regular holographic outfit appeared without ceremony: green long-sleeved button-up, jeans, and a belt. Humans traditionally did not wear socks or shoes to bed, so both were exempt from the holomatter re-establishment.

Chase relaxed once that barrier was established. Giving him a warning glare to make sure he stayed in place, she slipped from the bed to floor to scrounge for a shirt. Yanking it on, and then pulling on a pair of ratty flannel pants, she slid back to the rumpled bedspread. A silent battle was then waged, one which consisted of Chase determined not to look weak and Hound being one of the best scouts the Autobots had and was capable of seeing through such failing deceptions. He canted his head, at which Chase finally ceded to the loss.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she sighed.

He shrugged. "Ah came ta see ya. Didn't think it was smart ta drive inta your house or knock on your window, so…" Motioning to his holographic self was explanation enough. "Ah wasn't exactly thinkin' ya'd mind-."

Chase's eyebrow jackknifed.

"Heh, okay, didn't think ya'd mind _much_," the alien amended. "It was just a bit of fun. Sorry." He dipped into a half-bow, a gesture he would have given to any one of his own kind. A tad formal, but he did feel really guilty.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration, Chase was left feeling distinctly like an ass. Eyeing Hound's repentant bow with more than a little irritation, she let go of the bridge of her nose and waved the hand agitatedly. "Alright, alright, I get it! Stop bowing, will you? It freaks me out."

He rose, still looking sheepish. "Ya know Ah'd never mean ya harm."

"I know that. You'd never in a million years- it's just…" Chase huffed, pursing her lips. "How long were you here before I woke up?"

"Not long. A few minutes at most."

"_Why?" _

"Why?" Hound looked as if he hadn't really considered _why._ Why did he come to her before anyone else after a shift? Why seek comfort here? Why did he feel comfortable enough to hop into an alien's bed? Funny, it was like he hadn't even thought at all before coming over. It was just automatic.

"Ah…" He made a noise very much like clearing his throat. "Ah wanted ta tell ya somethin'…" An expert Autobot scout and that was the best lie he could come up with?

"Seriously?"

"…uh-huh?"

She let out a frustrated sigh, too tired to be calling any bluffs. "If it's about that thing with the other Autobot guy coming back, I already know."

"Ya do?"

"Yeah- one of you guys came by the shop while I was working and told me." First it had been a shock that some Autobot other than Hound would willingly come find her, and then it became a piss-off when the alien took up her whole lunch hour with his company. "Guess I'm considered part of the Scooby gang now." A roll of her eyes completed the sarcasm.

"Who?" Hound refused to acknowledge his minor disappointment with being denied the chance to break the news first.

Chase shrugged. "Blue guy."

"There are three blue-painted mechs on base."

"That was his _name_… I think." She scratched her head. "Blue-something."

"Bluestreak."

"That's it!"

"Ah see…" Hound canted his head, noting every little nuance to come across the human he had been exclusively studying for the past five months. He was very familiar with every detail of her by now; knew her moods, from angry to irritated to defiant to defensive. "Ya don't seem surprised ta hear that someone's come back from the dead."

"It wasn't none of my business." She yawned, widely and pointedly. "Do I have to have this conversation now? I'm tired. I said you can stay, but I'd like it if you'd shut up now." Not caring what Hound wanted anymore, she crashed to the side, taking back her rumpled pillow and shoving it beneath her head. "Night."

"Good night." Not quite knowing what to do with himself anymore, the hologram backed off the bed and pulled the discarded sheets over his human friend. Chase wasn't about to spit on the gesture, so she gratefully shrugged under the threadbare sheets. It surprised her to find a broad forehead pressed to the side of her head, just above her ear. He rubbed from side to side gently, alien but comprehendible as sweet.

"Sorry about… ya know, messin' up your night," the scout apologized in a sincere, murmured tone. "It's been so long since Ah've had someone ta be with who wasn't war-related… escaping is nice when Ah can. Ah don't have to think about the war when Ah'm with ya." He paused, sighing. "Ah wasn't thinkin' of how you'd feel. For that, Ah am sorry."

Oh, talk about rubbing in the feeling of being an ass. Chase crossed her eyes, thankful that her back was to the alien so he couldn't read her face. She usually wasn't in the habit of letting herself feel guilt, but Hound- _damn him!-_ knew how to rub it in, whether he did it on purpose or otherwise. Feeling him straighten and begin to back away, she slung an arm out and caught a dissipating wrist. The hologram immediately ceased disappearing.

"How long is a shift for you?" she asked carefully.

Hound canted his head, answering automatically. "Scouting shifts are about three orns, sometimes longer. Ah was only out for two orns, though."

Chase mentally did the math: 1 orn = 6.5 days: 2 orns = 13 days. She cringed, realizing she hadn't even noticed he'd been gone for two weeks. Stuffing away the new wave of even more guilt, she asked, "Why come back early?"

"Ah was in Turkey picking up a new arrival, and then in the Ukraine ta pick up the second. Ah'd still be out there, driving up to Siberia ta pick up others, but they- Mudflap and Skids… didn't land." He looked down, as embarrassed as the rest of the Autobots had been when they groaned and complained of the bratling pair's imminent arrival, only to have them disappear off sensors before even hitting the atmosphere. "Ah was summoned back early because of that."

Her eyes flashed as a vague connection was made. "That cloaked ship you thought was hiding up there…"

Hound nodded grimly. "We're sure it's up there now."

He failed to hide the shadow that crossed his features. Regret for the fact that it had taken the sacrifice of two lives to figure the mystery out. Chase may not have been a scout, but her eyes were sharp enough to see the change. Now it made even more sense why he had come, looking to escape. Losing people was something she could relate to. The need to find sanctuary, somewhere to escape to, could sometimes be overwhelming.

"I'm sorry," Chase murmured, subdued. She scooted across the mattress, tugging him with her. Hound followed, but not without his fair share of confusion. Laying him down, Chase dragged the sheet over him, and then got herself comfortable with a foot of distance separating them. She then stated, "Don't read into this. You've had a hard couple orns and need a break."

"So you'll let me stay?" he asked cautiously, with a side of hope.

"…" Chase groaned, and then very reluctantly admitted, _"…yes."_

He chirped cutely, a musical electronic cheer that made Chase chuckle.

"_Shut up_. I'm going to sleep now. Don't wake me up." She eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to watch me while I sleep, are you?"

He smiled at her cheekily. "Ah'm already recharging in your shed. Ah'm running mah hologram on a displaced consciousness routine, kinda like lucid dreaming in humans. Ah'll put myself on stand-by until ya wake up again." Almost as if he had planned the whole thing…

Chase blinked, yawned, and then scratched her cheekbone. "Stand-by… lucid dreaming… You are such a freak."

"No one ever said that was a bad thing."

She shoved him lightly in humour. "This is probably the most bizarre dream you've ever had."

Catching her wrist in his hand, he held it, looking from her face to the closing space between them and then back again. Quite deliberately, he smiled and said, "This is the _only_ dream Ah've ever had."


	44. Paths Cross

**Elita One**- Yeah, poor Sam… and poor Chase, too, in a weird kind of way. ^^;

**Chickentyrant5**- No, I don't believe you've ever reviewed before, but there's a first time for everything, right? =P Your review left me all glowy inside; I'm so happy that you appreciate the effort it's taken to create a world of my own within the TF universe. It's not small feat, as anyone can tell you. =P

**DramaStar**-Mel- Awww, thanks so much! Hound is such a bundle of cuteness! XD And I'm flattered that you like my writing style- I try to keep it as professional as possible while still making it fun. =)

**Dazja**- lol~! It's not the length of the review, my friend, it's the heart behind it! I'm glad you liked the chapter! It was a pleasure to write. ^_^

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- Intriguing was what I was going for. ^_^

**TheInuyashaKaidanWriter**- lol~ I take it you enjoy reading Hound and Chase poke and prod at each other? XD Don't worry about the length of your review, my friend; it's the heart that matters. ^_^

**CuteKitten**- You're not making things up at all, my friend. In fact, I find your guesses of what Sam's dreams could mean very intriguing… I wish I could tell you their true meaning and origins, but I have to let the story play out as it is. ^^; As for poor Hound and his friendliness… I think he knows some of the things he does are invasive and personal but he simply does them anyway to get a reaction out of Chase. XD

**Sebastian Nyte**- There's so much more to Sam's dreams, my friend. You'll just have to wait and find out what the true meaning behind them are. =P I had to laugh at your comment on interspecies love being featured on Star Trek, though. I'm such a Trekkie fan! XD And I didn't take the Chase-being-racist comment badly at all. I actually was happy that someone picked up on that notion. Chase is being "racist/speciesist", and like racism here, it's grounded in fear. Mirage and his "pep talks" sure as hell ain't helping her, either. -__-

**Nitefyre**- You know how that old saying going- "the road to hell is paved with good intentions"… perhaps that's the road Mirage is on?

**Chloo**- Sometimes it's best never to learn where the inspiration for some of my writing/descriptive endeavours comes from, my friend… Your ideas concerning Sam's change of eye colour are interesting, but _not_ _quite_ the answer. Keep it on the backburner for now. The true answer may surprise you =P As for Mirage feeling a bit neglected… I'm sure he does, the poor thing. =( He needs love, too!

**Independent C**- I write the way I do, with these big convoluted stories, twists and mysteries everywhere, for readers just like you; the ones who are willing to drudge on, letting yourself be surprised and second guess everything. There is nothing more fun the universe than hearing a reader exclaim that they "never saw [insert event] coming!" XD What becomes of Sam, or even the story evolving between Chase and Hound, may be predictable, or it may be something that has people flying out of their seats going "NO WAY!" You'll just have to read and find out =P In the mean time, I can assure you that Skids and Mudflap are dead; it was my way of sticking to Michael Bay. ^_^;

**Lady_tecuma**- Whoa, girl, hold off the revenge bit, will you? Remember the last time someone tried to stick it to the Fallen? He ended up getting his optics taken away. O_o

**Balrog Rioke**- Darn right! XD I really didn't like Bay's twins in ROTF, so I decided to pay a little homage and _kill them_. XD As for Hound… I don't think he quite knows what he wants, or else he's afraid to put them into words. Give him time and he'll eventually clue in. =P You've given such a good guess that the Fallen is the one affecting Sam's dream; _you're_ _so close_! I wish I could give you the answer, but leaving you to figure the answer out for yourself is so much more rewarding, is it not?

**Luck-of-the-Irishman**- So many questions you have, delivered in such a wonderfully adept way! I wish I could answer them all, my friend, but sadly so much for the story would be lost if I revealed all… The who/what/why of Sam's dreams and changes will be answered in their own time, but for now… let the mystery fester. Little clues will be left along the way for those looking for them. =P

**FunkyFish1991**- My dear Fishy friend, what am I to do with you? Always with the essays for reviews; if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're becoming just a _teeny tiny bit_ addicted to the story… XD Not that I mind in the least; your reviews are probably the best reader's notes ever! =D If anyone should ever have a question about the chapter's content from now on, I shall henceforth direct them your way. XD You say I have a literary gift, but it is you who I hold in the highest respect; your breakdown of the chapters, the understanding you give it, even pointing out elements that I didn't consciously catch when writing it, is extraordinary. Your English teachers must love you. =D Of course, they can't love you as much as I do! XD The only bad thing about your reviews is because they're so long, I can't get to all the questions you've posed. =( All I can give you is the assurance that all your questions will be answered… eventually. *evil grin*

**Thepheonixqueen**- Oh my goodness, such high praise! Thank you so much~! That really means a lot! I'm so happy that you've enjoyed the story so far! Here's hoping you continue to enjoy! =D

**Lecidre**- lol~ You're so sweet! I'm so glad that you enjoy when Chase and Hound scenes come about; they're about as much fun to write as they are to read. =D One reason for it is, as you've said, Hound being such a ridiculously cute mech! He's so cute, he could make a basket full of kittens jealous. XD As for Hound and Chase's relationship… you're so right! When I read your review, I wanted to cheer! You have it exactly right! So many writers dive right into the making out without letting the connection between them characters deepen; it even happens between canon characters. For whatever happens between Chase and Hound, better or worse, it'll take its course accordingly. =)

As always, cosmic love, hugs, and shout outs to my peeps **FunkyFish1991, Lecidre, SylentNyte, Litahatchee**, and **Violetlight.**

**As We Come Together  
In Which Their Paths Cross Again **

Virus didn't even realize there were mountains looming in front of her until Trojan leaned over and tapped the cracked frontal view screen stretching up in front of her. Blinking slowly, the quadruped realized she must have drifted off and gathered her wits back accordingly. She surveyed the jagged landscape she and her cohorts now flew through, a land of towering stone claws and teeth; cold and unforgiving, barren and hard. Virus nodded her approval of the natural savagery. For an organic world, the sight was very powerful.

Half bowing, Trojan returned to his navigational work. While the landscape looked beautifully bare, exposed grey rock meeting frigid snow caps, freckled by sparse collections of raggedy firs, it was also a treacherous place to fly, especially at low altitudes through the peaks. Landing a ship their size- relatively small by comparison of most Cybertronian vessels, but still the size of a large yacht to a human- was going to be tricky. Doubly so if they were forced to land on an incline. The coordinates the Autobots had supplied them only served to lead them deeper into awkward territory, which would ensure an attack would be unlikely; a very smart plan on the enemy's part. It was very unfortunate for the mercenaries trying to navigate in one piece.

"How do you think he will be?" Virus wondered out loud, sitting back on her haunches. It was a question that had been haunting her since the moment she had announced her price for her services.

Worm and Trojan glanced to each other, shrugged, and then returned to their work.

Virus paid them no mind, choosing instead to muse to herself. She was far more likely to have a better conversation that way. "He will be beautiful, I know it," she said, nodding. "Like he was when I last saw him." Not her memories of the tall, dashing, demonic lord of Cybertron, but the mysterious and dark entity she'd curled around at the bottom of the ocean's depths. He had been like a figure of legend amongst the dark and dank, absorbing her mourning and inviting her to die with him. There had been a powerful aura about him even then. Even in death, Lord Megatron commanded respect.

Worm tapped his console to get his cohort's attention, shaking his head when Virus turned to him.

"The Autobots wouldn't dare desecrate the frame," Virus countered with a snort.

Worn raised both his optic ridges.

"No, I'm not being blinded by my own programming," the quadruped snapped. "Think of it, Worm? Have you ever heard of an Autobot double-crossing anyone? Let alone when the life of a fellow Autobot is on the line?" She hacked a ragged laugh. "They wouldn't dare do anything to risk us backing out of our contract."

Trojan made a huffing noise, shaking his head.

"Quiet you!" Virus barked, puffing out her barrel chest. "I could back out if I wanted to. We could find alternate ways to procure Lord Megatron's frame. This is simply the path of least resistance, even if it is paved with _Autobots._"

All three of them shuddered.

A warbled blip chimed from Trojan's station. He clattered along the keys to investigate, nodding at what he found. An astrosecond later, the _Invader_ was being set down on the mild incline of a mountainside. It was not a steep, but awkward enough to garner the mech's complete concentration. Their yellowed and flickering hull lights did very little to illuminate their landing site, while the shadows cast by coming evening created the illusions of crags and crannies that only served to create more confusion. It was with a shuddering _crrrrrreeeeaaaaaak _and a tired groan that the _Invader_ finally touched down. Their weight unsteadied the sheets of rock beneath them, raising a grinding roar as they slid down a couple yards until the struts had buried themselves deep enough to hold steady. An astrosecond later, a joint in one of their abused landing struts gave out, tilting them to the left. The sound of loose cargo in the hangar crashing rattled like thunder, shivering through the floor.

Trojan and Worm breathed sighs of relief.

"A perfect landing," Virus announced, unaffected. She shifted to stand, however the ship was so greatly tilted now that she was required to dig her claws into the rusted floor for traction. Trojan grabbed one shoulder as she passed, depending on her leverage to manoeuvre out. Worm joined on the other shoulder as they passed him.

In the hangar, they were forced to dig through their accumulated treasure trove of junk in order to find the tools necessary for their current job. What could be stashed in subspace was. What didn't fit was strapped to Virus's broad back by ways of tarps and rope. When they tried to get out, they realized their hatch was stuck and had to be shot out. Trojan did the honours. Crowding the hatchway in the aftermath, they stared at the smoking heap only to discover that the ramp to get out was also failing to deploy. Worm jumped first, then Trojan. They both caught Virus, who shook them off and looked around.

"We won't get to them until after dark," she determined, surveying the terrain critically. Now that she was level with it, she didn't like it as much. Too much green, white, grey, and brown, much like their encampment up north on the coast. The only thing missing was copious amount of water. There wasn't a lot of cover for a trio of tar-painted bots to hide and skulk about. "We'll have to be careful getting down… I don't know if the rock will be able to support our weight without bringing a rockslide down on our heads."

Her cohorts shared determining glances. Worm nodded, as if agreeing to something. He transformed quickly, allowing his large, winged alt mode to flop belly-first into the snow. Trojan took up his customary spot on the left wing, not hanging from it as he usually would if they were flying, but lying lengthwise along it. He peered up at Virus expectantly. She sat back, staring at them in mild humour.

"Will you be able to steer?" she wondered. The trees wouldn't be a problem to go through, but the large boulders dotting the mountainside looked ominous.

Worm flopped from side to side, slapping the ground with his wingtips impatiently.

Virus snorted, turning her blunt olfactory sensor up. "Fine, but don't expect me to put you back together after you hit a rock that's harder than your head." Marching to her cohort's right wing, her customary spot while flying, she laid lengthwise along it like Trojan. They sat like that for several expectant breems before Virus sighed. "Do you need a push?"

Worm once again wagged from side to side in an affirmative.

"On the count of three," Virus announced, dipping her hind leg to the ground. Trojan mirrored her. "One. Two. Three!" They pushed off together, aided by a brief roar from Worm's thrusters. They were airborne for all but an astrosecond before they hit the slope and shot down in a blur of black and flying bolts. Not even three astroseconds later, Virus came to the stunning conclusion that this was perhaps one of the _dumber_ ideas her partners had ever come up with.

As they gained speed, the trees quickly began to blur together. One large trunk loomed ahead, missed by a breath as Worm expertly swerved. Trojan and Virus leased their legs to the ground to add some drag and help steer. Several more trees swerved by. Trojan banged his fists over Worm, complaining in his own way of whiplash. Virus growled, bristling as her aft was scraped by the branches of a passing tree. To better hold on, she dig her fangs deep into Worm's armour, locking her jaw. The cargo on her back shifted dangerously, clanking and rattling as its weight tested the ties that held it.

"_Worm,"_ Virus snarled around her mouthful. She could hardly hear herself over the roar of metal grinding against stone. _"You better get us to the bottom in one piece!"_

And in saying that, she invariably jinxed them.

Worm's rattling alt mode tensed for a second. Barely noticeably. Virus felt it through her fangs.

"What is it?" she barked over the roar of their descent. She didn't even need to pretend to fill in the blanks this time for an answer. The truth laid dead ahead, and getting closer by the astrosecond.

"CLIFF!" Virus roared, just as all three of them flew off it.

* * *

Sunstreaker's gaze shot up as something akin to a distant roar echoed in the air. Before he knew what he was doing, he rose to his feet to investigate, only to have a dark hand settle on his wrist.

"**We were ordered to stay here,"** Prowl reminded him quietly. **"The others will alert us if they need assistance." **

Shaking loose of the hand, Sunstreaker remained standing, staring down at the now black-and-white frame Prowl was sporting. The alt mode was of one of the police SUVs that had chased him and Sideswipe up and down the state. Sideswipe had been the one dumb enough to risk driving backwards and scan the slagging thing. Prowl had been strangely accepting of the alt mode without his usual suspicions.

"**Please, sit down,"** the tactician gently ordered.

Not because he wanted to listen, but because he just didn't want to stand around like an idiot for longer than he had to, Sunstreaker sat back down.

"**Thank you,"** Prowl intoned.

"**Yeah, sure." **Sunstreaker's gaze lingered on the tactician's faceplate, the changes that it had come under since that orn on the _Loki_. He was a completely different mech. Or, more accurately, he was an improved version of his old self. A change that not even Ratchet could explain. It was oddly reassuring to have the old Prowl back. Remembering himself- remembering not to stare like a dolt- Sunstreaker inclined his head before looking back to the mountains.

The decision to leave certain mechs at the Lennox homestead as protection had been decided days before the mercenaries' arrival. Optimus, Ratchet and Wheeljack all had reason to stay at the _Loki_ to meet with the Decepticon-Neutrals and to oversee what procedures were going to be undertaken on Arcee. Ironhide, Chromia, and Bumblebee all staunchly refused to leave Arcee to her original attackers' mercy, and so had been granted leave to stay.

That left the four Autobots who had no particular reason to be anywhere near the proceedings. While Sideswipe and Sunstreaker owned the ship, that wasn't reason enough to excuse their presence. They were ordered to remain with the Lennoxs as a last line of defence, should Virus and her crew get any bright ideas about hunting the humans down for sport. If the three Decepticons managed to break through the six Autobots at the _Loki,_ it was a given that neither Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe would hesitate to kill.

Prowl was another mech who possessed no reason to stay with the ship. He held no qualms about staying with the humans as additional insurance. However, protecting the humans was not his only reason for staying. Though he did not say the words out loud, it was obvious he had volunteered to stay behind as personal protection and support for Jazz.

_Jazz… _

Sunstreaker cringed.

There was no way he couldn't cringe. What happened to him shouldn't be allowed to happen… No, it _couldn't_ happen. As in it was _impossible_. And yet there Jazz was, sitting with his back again the Lennoxs' house, visor lowered, without a trace of his optics in his head. He was as blind as blind could get.

Ratchet called it "_Spontaneous optical disintegration caused by the unstable flux of Jazz's physical structure so soon after resurrection, compounded by the extreme energy burst from overloading." _

It was a crack answer that not even the good medic believed.

The truth was, there was no acceptable explanation that could explain how a pair of perfectly healthy optics could disappear. To add to the mystery, when Ratchet had checked Jazz's processor, he'd found that even the visual interpretation centre and all connected data had disappeared as well. All of it was gone. Even if Jazz were given new optics, or even a new frame, without that integral programming, he wouldn't have been able make use of either. And as far as Sunstreaker could gather, Ratchet had encountered an inexplicable and irremovable firewall of corrupt data and logic-loops in Jazz's processor that prevented him from attempting the delicate procedure of replacing the visual centre and needed programming.

No one said the words out loud, but everyone was thinking the same thing: the whole situation wasn't _natural_.

True to Jazz's nature, he was little help matter at all. When demanded for knowledge of the occurrence, he either evaded as if it were a game, or he told a fairytale that did nothing but aggravate Ratchet endlessly.

Only Prowl looked as if he wanted to half-believe the nonsense. Whether it was because it was his lover who was affected or because his own memories of the event were strangely lacking, Prowl was the only one who listened attentively as Jazz recounted his tale. The Fallen this; making deals with the devil that… Whereas the tactician had admonished a similar tale before, now he was not quite sure… For once, logic did not appear to be the tactician's ruling factor. He steadfastly remained near Jazz's side as the orns passed. He continued to be the only one who could look at the silver mech without cringing.

Sunstreaker, as it stood, had great difficulty meeting Jazz's visor without a cold shiver racing down his spinal column. The thought of what laid behind the crystalline visor- two dark, empty black holes where a pair of glittering optics should be- made his tanks churn.

Perhaps sensing Sunstreaker's gaze, Jazz turned his head a fraction to stare blindly in the warrior's direction. **"Somethin' on your mind, Sunny?" **he asked, smirking.

Bristling, he quickly snorted and looked away. **"No." **

Jazz took a small sip from the energon cube Prowl had gathered for him, and then smirked. **"Funny, Ah don't believe ya." **

"**I thought you were supposed to be blind." **

"**Ah don't need optics ta figure certain things out." **The saboteur tipped him a dangerous smile. **"Ah don't need ta see ta know you're restless." **

Sunstreaker narrowed his gaze, frowning. **"I'm not restless." **

"**Sure ya are, Ah can hear it in the way ya move." **He tapped one audio for emphasis.** "Question is- what's makin' ya restless?" **

"**Nothing." **

"**Ah still don't believe ya." **

"**Drop it, will you? Slag off." **

"**Restless **_**and**_** testy, are ya?" **Jazz teased.

"**I'm not afraid to hit a blind mech, Jazz," **Sunstreaker intoned warningly, only to receive a censorious look from Prowl. With a snort, Sunstreaker pushed to his feet again. He couldn't take any more of this slag.

Prowl frowned. **"I said to stay here." **

"**Who made you Prime?" **Sunstreaker snorted, brushing off his aft and legs of dirt, which was exposed in abundance now that most of the snow in the yard had been trampled away under their feet and wheels. **"I'm going around the house. That shouldn't be a problem, should it?"**

Prowl's mouthplates thinned into a hard line, though he refrained from saying anything.

Sunstreaker trekked the few steps around to the front of the Lennoxs' diminutive home, easing back down to the cold ground just out of reach of the porch light's glow. The humans conversing with Sideswipe through the open window paused to nod their greetings to the golden mech. They had already learned that trying to start conversations with him was a somewhat useless, and slightly dangerous, so neither Will nor Sarah tried to say anything. Sideswipe glanced up, looked him over quizzically, and then returned to the one creature on the entire property who shared a similar maturity level as him: Annabelle.

With his battle mask covering his faceplate, he cooed through the window to the clapping flesh bag. "Where's the little human?" he teased. "Where's the human?" His battle mask flicked back. "There she is!"

Annabelle shrieked, bouncing in her mother's arms. "Big! Big!" she yelled, which was what she liked to call all of the Autobots when she saw them. It was her first and only word, although it occasionally sounded like she was working on a few others. The little birthday hat strapped to her head fell off, though she hardly noticed. In the month and a half that the Autobots had been around her house, Annabelle had taken to Sideswipe the most.

"Okay, let's do it again!" Sideswipe laughed, bringing his battle mask across his faceplate again.

Sunstreaker watched for a short while, and then looked away. He looked to the evening sky, counting stars. It had been a very long time since he'd looked at stars, especially just to relax and attempt to think about nothing. He suddenly found himself with the urge to paint again, only to remember he had no supplies with him to try.

"**Hey, bro, she's looking at you," **Sideswipe said, nudging Sunstreaker with his elbow.

Looking down, the golden mech found that he had become the object of the under-developed alien's abject fascination. Uninterested, he looked back to the sky. The phone rang in the kitchen, summoning Sarah, who left Annabelle to Will. It was Will's parents on the phone, so he set Annabelle in a baby chair and trotted out of the room. During this short exchange, the baby's expectant gaze did not leave Sunstreaker.

"Big!" she ordered, very serious for a one-year-old.

"**I think she wants you to play, too," **Sideswipe offered. **"You want to?"**

"**Has the pit rusted over?" **

"**Aw, come on, it's just a little sparkling!" **The red mech sat up, pouting. **"Play with her! It's very therapeutic." **

Sunstreaker spared the baby one more appraising look before curling one side of his mouthplates up in a distasteful snarl. **"No." **

Still pouting, Sideswipe turned back to his new best friend. "Don't mind him, Annie. He's a slag head with no spark and no sense of humour."

They continued to play games of their own until Will returned to put Annabelle to bed. Her tiny face frowned exaggeratedly over her father's shoulder as she was carried away, looking to Sunstreaker one last time. She had very big blue eyes, curiously similar to Sideswipe's wide optics when he had been a sparkling. She all but demanded for Sunstreaker's attention. Looking one way, and then the other, the golden warrior quickly consented to wiggling his fins for the alien child. Annabelle's face lit up instantly, clapping her hands wildly as she cheered. As soon as she was gone, Sideswipe sat up and grinned.

"**I saw what you did there," **he teased. His voice was pitched beyond the range of human hearing, accommodating Annabelle as she was put to bed. Sarah quickly went about pulling the curtains closed on all the windows for some semblance of privacy, pretending that four giant sentries were not on guard outside her house.

Sunstreaker tilted his olfactory sensor in the air, huffing. "**I didn't do anything." **

Sideswipe's teasing smile lessened, his faceplate softening into something kinder. **"Awww, Sunny, it's okay. You don't have to own up to it if you don't want to. I'll know you did it anyways." **

"**Don't delude yourself." **Sunstreaker replied dryly.

Sideswipe laughed. **"Don't worry, I won't. I'm already deluded enough as it is." **

When the golden warrior spared a brief smile, his twin perked up, giving him a light shove.

"**You know it's the truth," **Sideswipe insisted, optics glittering like the stars that were coming out. **"Why else would I have stuck around for so long?"**

"**True," **Sunstreaker admitted, mock-thoughtfully. **"Because thinking you'd stick around out of love for your brother would be too much to ask for." **

Leaning back on his arms, Sideswipe smirked playfully. **"Yeah, wayyy too much, since my brother is completely narcissistic, self-serving, and crazy beyond fixing. Oh, and did I mention he loves his reflection way too much to be healthy?" **He got a shove in the arm for his honesty, which was it was enough for Sideswipe to lose his balance and fall.

"**Try not to damage the house!" **Prowl ordered as he heard the crash.

Sideswipe picked himself up, making a face that was obviously directed at the tactician. Once done, he decided to transmit his next question rather than say it out loud for every Cybertronian-speaking creature around to hear. _**"So, what brings you to my side of the house?"**_

"_**Nothing." **_

"_**Got jealous of your would-be lover fawning over Jazz?" **_

Without deigning the stupid question with a proper answer, Sunstreaker whacked his brother across the head.

A window cracked open and Will stuck his head out. "Mind keeping it down just a little more?"

With one hand to his abused head, Sideswipe pointed with his other. "He hit me."

The distinctive rev of Prowl's engine rose in the night. "Don't make me come over there!"

Both twins stubbornly subsided.

"I'll be quieter hitting him next time," Sunstreaker said, which caused Will's jaw to drop. It was the first time the Autobot had bothered to say anything to any of the humans.

"Uh, thanks." In a bit of a daze, Will ducked back into his house, shut the window, and wandered back to his mate to report that the big yellow Lamborghini really wasn't mute.

Still nursing his abused cranium, Sideswipe dared to press on with his earlier questioning. _**"Okay, so it wasn't jealousy that drove you over here. What's the real reason? Jazz drive you away?" **_

Sunstreaker pursed his mouthplates. _**"He didn't **_**drive**_** me away. I came here to get away. There's a difference." **_

"_**Sure there is." **_

He snorted at his brother's tone. _**"Just answer this, Sides- do you think I'm restless?" **_

"_**Restless?" **_Sideswipe automatically reached out, delving into his brother to get a better look at what the other was feeling. _**"Sure," **_he transmitted after a fraction. _**"You're restless, but no more than I am." **_He sent his own emotional state across their bond, allowing Sunstreaker to become acquainted with the anxiousness fluttering just beneath his brother's armour. True to Sideswipe's word, he possessed a similar restlessness, yet it was not exactly the same. _**"Way too much weird stuff has happened on this planet since we've landed, and now we're inviting 'Cons onto our ship. If you weren't feeling antsy about something, I'd think there was something wrong with you." **_

Considering his brother's words, Sunstreaker turned his gaze back the sky. _**"Feels different." **_

Sideswipe could only shrug. He, too, felt the odd kink to his twin's energy, but couldn't put a pin to it. _**"I don't know what to tell you, bro. If you think it's different, then it's different."**_

Having someone acknowledge that he was restless did nothing to settle the feeling. Letting his gaze fall from the stars, he fixed Sideswipe with a wry look. _**"Thanks for the stunning revelation, genius." **_

"_**That's what I'm here for." **_He leaned over, patting Sunstreaker on the arm. _**"If it makes you feel better, look at it this way- we've already filled our quota of weird for the next couple vorns, so what more could possibly happen?" **_

Sunstreaker sighed. _**"Don't jinx it." **_

* * *

Ratchet heaved an annoyed sigh out his vents, which consequently wreathed him in a vaporous cloud. "I didn't imagine it would take them this long."

"You heard that crash earlier," Optimus intoned. "Perhaps they ran into landing trouble."

The seven of them were gathered in the mountain niche posed in various displays of anxiety. Wheeljack bumped around inside the _Loki'_s hangar, sterilizing the area one last time before Arcee was brought in to hopefully be fixed. Ratchet gathered with Optimus near the ship's sunken landing struts, exchanging tense words every few breems. Ironhide, Chromia, Bumblebee, and Arcee had gathered as a unit of their own on the far side of the niche, protected by the rising rock walls to their backs. They all kept a wary optic focused on the woods.

A soft growl rolled from within the shadows cast by towering trees.

Optimus straightened, turning in the direction of the noise. "They're here."

With his announcement, the dampening field hiding the mercenaries' spark signatures fell away. Three sets of smouldering red optics appeared in the gloom, followed by the crunch and crack of heavy forms making their way through the underbrush. How they had managed to get so close without making so much as a noticeable sound was mystery.

"Took them long enough," Ratchet growled, narrowing his optics. Ironhide was instantly abreast of his fellow two Autobots, his cannons rolled out and charging.

"If they try anything…" he warned.

"You'll be the first to shoot," Optimus ceded, though he laid a hand to one cannon to lower it. "For now, let's be as un-confrontational as possible."

Two hulking shadows emerged from the trees first, each only as tall as the Twins, but several times thicker. While heavily armed, none of their weaponry was charged, nor even brought to bear in an obviously threatening manner. To the Prime, they ducked very brief, awkward bows as if they weren't quite sure if they were supposed to do so or not.

Virus lumbered into sight between her cohorts, head held high. She did not bow, nor even made an attempt to pay any such respects. The changes the beast's frame had undertaken since her last encounter with the Autobots, notably her encounter with Ironhide up North, were shocking. Her outer armour had been essentially reconstructed, looking better, blacker, and cleaner than it probably ever had; the style was unchanged from the original, but the care taken spoke of Soundwave's expertise. Her new appearance explained why her arrival had to be delayed until February. Of course, she _would_ have had to get fixed up for Megatron's corpse. But it was the new light that had come into the beast's optics that unsettled the Autobots; her gaze was alive, ravenously hungry, with just a bit of madness in them.

A shriek split the night as Arcee recognized the new arrivals. **"THEM?!"**

While Trojan and Worm tensed, Virus ignored the scream. Her optics locked on the figure she had been searching for; an unmistakable form shrouded under ratty tarps. Even dead and limp, she would know him anywhere. A look of awe crossed her faceplate. Drawn by how close her lord and master was, she dared a step forward. "My Lord Megatron…"

The roar of a cannon setting off ricocheted off the mountains. Burning plasma launched passed Virus's faceplate, nearly searing along her side, striking a tree with such force that it was ripped out by the roots. Thankfully, the flames did not catch on the other trees.

Optimus spun to Ironhide to reprimand him, only to find him as surprised as any other. Turning farther back, Optimus discovered Bumblebee with his arm transformed, the barrel of his cannon smoking. Even at the distance he stood at, the scout's faceplate was livid. Chromia, not far from Bumblebee's shoulder, had drawn her double-barrel rifle. Arcee was up as well, no longer shrieking obscenities but gaping in abject horror at the aberrations.

"Stay where you are, Decepticon," Bumblebee ordered. From the threat in his voice to the tension in his frame, it all but screamed that his second shot would not miss.

"Whelp," Virus snorted. She cast a hard glance on Optimus Prime, her disdain for the Autobot leader painted clearly in her expression. "We're not here to be your target pratice."

"No, you're not." Optimus threw a narrowed look over his shoulder, to which Bumblebee defiantly raised his chin and dared to charge his cannon again. Chromia was a little smarter in matter; she obviously did not like the situation, but helping Arcee came before serving grudges. She placed her rifle away, and then grabbed the bottom curve of the scout's cannon muzzle and jerked it down. When Arcee tried to scrabble away, the femme quickly subdued her charge.

Virus zeroed in on Arcee, magnifying the small femme to see her better. "I take it that's the bot you want me to take a look at?"

"Yes, that is Arcee. With your expertise is in viral warfare, we hoped you would be able to do something for her before she…"

"Dies a horrible death?" Virus prompted, a little too cheerfully.

Ironhide snarled. Ratchet instantly grabbed the mech's arm to hold him back.

"If you reviewed the information we sent, you know exactly what you will be dealing with," the medic stated tersely, scowling.

"We've reviewed the material." Virus nodded, measuring Ratchet for his worth as an Autobot and fellow medic.

"Then you should know it's right up your alley." Ratchet appraisal of the Decepticon was just as guarded, his hostility just as open. The added offense of his own function being desecrated by Virus's claim in it did nothing to endear her to him. In fact, he hated her a little more for it.

"An Alpha-class virus of such magnificent qualities certainly is right up my alley, but I will have to take a closer look to be sure." She snorted lightly. "Let's get this over with. I don't want to waste anymore time here than I have to."

Ironhide bristled, his optics flashing. "The sentiment is mutual."

"Thank Primus none of us are here under false pretences of camaraderie, then," the quadruped sneered as she lumbered out from under the canopy of fir tree branches. The _Loki_ rose above her, lit by rows of golden-hued hull lighting. Recognition flared in Virus's gaze, stopping her in her tracks. "That ship…"

Optimus turned to regard the _Loki_ politely. "This is not a regulation ship," he amended. "It was the only one at our disposal for this occasion, though. Please, excuse the… _colourful _nature of it." He looked back at the Decepticon, who failed to take her optics off the murals. "This won't be a problem for you, will it?"

Trojan nudged Virus to get her attention. Her gaze snapped away, acting curiously as startled as if she'd seen a ghost.

"No, this won't be a problem at all," she growled warily. "This ship will be perfectly… _adequate_ to work in." The _Loki_ looked as it had so many vorns ago, in another life time. After all these vorns…of all the ships for the Autobots to be flying…here it was again, like a ghost. Of course there was no room in war to give sentiment to a dead mech's ship, especially for a mech who died so long ago, but the least the Autobots could have done was give it a coat of paint!

"Good." Optimus motioned to the ramp, indicating that the mercenaries were to go up first. Wheeljack, who had been hanging out of the hatch, scrambled away when he saw the bots coming up. Ratchet and Ironhide crowded in behind the trio, as if herding them. Optimus waited for Chromia, Bumblebee, and Arcee come abreast of the ramp before he moved. He stared down at the group, surveying each faceplate concernedly.

"I can't believe you would call that monster," Arcee hissed angrily.

"She's the only one who has a chance of helping you," Optimus said solemnly.

"I'd rather die."

Bumblebee bristled. "Don't say things like that."

"You were the one trying to blow her head off!" the femme snapped.

"She was getting out of line. If she got to Megatron's frame, who knew what would have happened…" Bumblebee countered, glancing at Optimus in hopes to see that his leader would understand his reasoning. He found censure in his commander's gaze.

"Let's get this over with," Chromia spat, her grip tightening on Arcee's arms. "The longer that beast is here, the harder it is to keep from shooting it." Her gaze was hard as she gazed up at the Prime. "You have no idea the effort it's taking Ironhide to simply stand in the same space as that thing."

Optimus bowed his head. "This is the only way, Chromia…"

Arcee bristled, growling. "I should have some say in this, Prime! It's my frame! My life! You should have told me what thing you dragged up from the pit for this! I am not some youngling to be coddled!" Her optics shot wide as a revelation hit her. Spinning to the side, she quickly assaulted Bumblebee with a couple angry slaps to his chest and arms. "You could have told me! You knew and you didn't tell me! You glitch!"

Bumblebee, in contrast to his earlier defiance, shrunk away from the femme. "Arcee, I-!"

"I can't believe you!"

Optimus gently eased Arcee away from Bumblebee, a surprisingly difficult task as the femme was rather intent on inflicting some serious harm. "We thought this was the best way."

Arcee spun on the Prime, hissing at him. "I wish everyone would stop thinking they know best for me! I have not been a youngling for a long time, Prime!"

Chromia pursed her mouthplates. "When you act like that, you sure give the impression of a youngling," she said darkly. "I know this is going to be hard you. I know what you think of Virus, but this has to be done before that infection you have finally kills you. This could be your one chance."

Her small, thin hands clenched tightly. "I don't know if I can go through with it…"

Wheeljack trotted down the ramp towards them, clearly uncomfortable. He wrung his hands as he asked, "You planning on coming up any time soon?"

"Yes, we'll be right there, Wheeljack," Optimus assured, waving the engineer back. He returned his attention to Arcee. "This is your decision whether or not you want this. I'm sorry that we left you out of the decision making process, but there's still time to back out of that is what's in your spark. Just be sure that that is what you want."

To accept the deal meant to give herself into the mercies of the monster who had originally infected her. To deny it meant not only throwing all of Chromia's care back in her faceplate, spitting on the trouble Optimus and the others must have gone through to contract Virus, it also meant walking away from Bumblebee just they were starting to get somewhere. It meant her certain death. Damn it, her choices sucked.

"Fine," she finally relented, causing relief to claim Chromia and Bumblebee. "I didn't get much of a choice, but I'll take living over dead."

Bumblebee ducked down, taking her hand to squeeze it. "We'll all be there to make sure nothing happens to you."

Arcee raised Bumblebee's hand to rub against her forehead affectionately. "If that four-legged freak or any of her merry band of drones does anything funny, I know I can count on you, Chromia, and Ironhide to shoot them for me, right?"

"I'll be the first to pull the trigger."

Trusting the sincerity she saw shining in his optics, the determination in his voice, Arcee nodded. Leasing his hand, she stepped back, drawing herself up as straight and as proud as she could. "I'll hold you to that, Bee." She made her way ahead of them, hobbling up the ramp on legs that looked too thin to support the weight that they did.

The hangar, cleared of everything excess, was spotless thanks to Wheeljack's care. It was crowded to the brink of overflowing, which only got worse as Arcee, Bumblebee, Chromia, and Optimus joined them successively. The mercenaries were on the far side of the small, rectangular space, each one unloading their burdens. From subspace came all manners of tools, accompanied by folding tables with which to set the tools on. It was all very practiced and professional, a testament to how many times they had been through the motions. As soon as the two bipedals were finished with emptying their subspace pockets, they moved to assist Virus with unsaddling her of her load. The large tarp sacks were untied and eased down. Unwrapping each item with care, a small load of compact monitoring devices were revealed, lastly followed by the unveiling of a sleek, long-limbed black femme frame, sparkless and limp as it was set to the floor. One point of irritation was that it was of Decepticon design, though it was probably too much to ask for anything else.

Ratchet eyed the equipment and frame with narrowed optics, his summations of it all only causing his dark mood to grow darker. "We did not contract a reformatting. There's nothing arranged for payment of extra services," he stated.

"That femme's frame is too far gone to be saved," Virus huffed, jerking her head in Arcee's direction. "Even if I did manage to remove the virus, she'd never recover physically from it." She moved closer to Arcee, circling her, examining her, acting as if the femme were nothing but an object "The best you can hope for is that I somehow manage to back the virus out of her processor far enough to transfer enough of her mind for a reformatting. After that, melt the remains; they'll be no use to anyone otherwise."

"That's more work than what we originally anticipated…" Ratchet said warily.

"Megatron's frame covers the cost of any and all procedures and materials used," Virus stated matter-of-factly. She would not mention that the value placed on Megatron's frame actually left her in debt to the Autobots, but what they didn't know would hurt them… "Worm, Trojan, bring everything over here. You know what to do." Virus then heaved her frame to her haunches, setting her forelegs on the berth so that her faceplate could come within mere inches of Arcee's. "What I'm curious of is how you came into possession of such a pretty little thing."

Arcee bristled, hissing. "You did this to me, you slag heap."

Virus canted her head, laughing. "I think I'd remember having a virus like this in my repertoire."

Arcee's fists clenched, as did Bumblebee's behind her, though Ironhide and Chromia wisely laid their hands to him to keep him in line.

"You infected me in the Black Expanse, when you attacked the _Ark_. If it wasn't for you, I never would have had to take that antivirus that turned me into this!" the femme snarled.

Virus blinked, not at all disturbed to be screamed at. "Ah," she said, the memory coming to her. "I remember now- you're that fool creature that jumped in the way for another." Her optics narrowed. "You should be dead."

"The antivirus spared me the kindness," Arcee sneered. "Turned me into _this_ instead."

The mercenary's narrowed gaze turned to her cohorts, who looked silently stunned, shrugging. She growled. The long, serrated fangs lining her too-broad faceplate ground together in her displeasure. "There shouldn't be a cure- not to my knowledge." Not an antivirus that wasn't of her own making, anyways.

"I guess that means there's someone else out there just as sick and twisted as you to come up with something like this," Arcee spat.

"We'll see about that." Looming closer to the small femme, Virus gave her one last, in-depth appraisal. "Since you can't be interfaced with without being rejected, I'll just have to use a secondary option." Her exposed "smile" full of fangs widened even more, the teeth parting slowly like a bear trap. "Don't struggle or this is going to hurt more than it already will-."

A cold, wild streak of fear shot through Arcee as she stared down that gaping black hole, realizing exactly what was to come. "No! No-!" she screamed. "Don't! _Not that-!"_

"Don't you dare!" Ratchet jerked into action, racing forward to stop it.

"Decepticon!" Ironhide roared, charging his cannons. Bumblebee and Chromia mirrored him, prepared to strike the beast squarely in her ugly faceplate.

Trojan and Worm leapt into action, not to attack, but defend. They dove around the berth, firmly planting themselves between the cannons and their friend. Worm's heavy wings flung out as far as they could, serving as a shield that nearly hid all of Virus behind him.

In the astrosecond that it took for all that to occur, the thick viral-injector cabled coiled within the beast were unleashed. Arcee jerked away at the last moment, paying for it in the end. Instead of the dagger-tipped cables striking their intended targets- her interface panel and the surrounding area- they drove into her faceplate and neck. Two pierced her forehead, directly into her processor, another two into her neck column. The last injector shattered the femme's optic, summoning a scream so loud it left everyone's audios ringing. Her vocal processor shorted out with a sharp screech. Energon oozed down her faceplate, only thin rivulets while the injector stoppered the wound. Rendered mute, Arcee looked doubly wretched as she writhed, arms flailing.

Virus grunted, snarling in irritation. Her mouthplates did not need to move in order for her to vocal processor to articulate words, so when she spoke it was unimpeded. "I told you not to move." Impatience lacing her movement, the quadruped hopped onto the berth and expertly pinned Arcee under her heavy forelegs. "You make it worse the more you struggle."

Ragged air panted through Arcee's heaving vents. Her mobility was limited to jerking and writhing. She looked like a trapped animal.

"Look what you've done! That was completely unnecessary!" Ratchet snarled, at Arcee's side to wipe away the energon. There was nothing he could do now to shut down the neural relays.

"She moved," the beast grunted.

Wheeljack eased closer to the berth, prepared to lend a hand when needed. "You could've given us some warning…"

"Could of, but didn't." A deep, rolling growl rose from Virus's barrel chest as she began transferring the lowest class of virus she had in her arsenal- one that would permit a connection though not kill the femme outright in her weakened state. Upon feeling the virus leaching into her, Arcee emitted a grinding, whining noise. Her one working optic flickered, unseeing. She was beyond the threshold of sense, so overpowered by the assault that she was numbed. Raw sparks zinged from a few of the more lively connections, skittering over the backs of Ratchet's hands as he worked to lessen the damage Virus was inherently causing. The medic's brutal swearing added some degree of minor familiarity to the scene, an odd and sick kind of comfort; if he had been silent, it would have meant something was _seriously_ _wrong_.

Arcee's head tipped back, optic rolling. Her gaze landed blindly on Bumblebee; she did not see him, but he certainly saw her. The jolt that shot through him was powerful, aching right down to the very essence of his spark. Just as it had been on the orn the _Ark_ had been attacked in the Black Expanse, Virus towered over Arcee and there was nothing the scout could do. His hand itched to reach out to her. Pressure around his fingers surprised him into looking down, only to find Chromia's claws there. The dusky-blue femme's faceplate was grim. Ironhide behind them was a wall of shadowed armour, vibrating with barely-contained violence.

Searching for the faceplate of the one other mech idle in the hangar, Bumblebee met Optimus's steady gaze. The Prime's faceplate was a mask, his optics grave. Bumblebee was trained to see the little details in everything, and his familiarity with Optimus only aided in spotting what seemed amiss. While the Prime may have been watching Arcee, he was not seeing her. Of what he actually saw, Bumblebee could only guess. Was he imaging the orns he'd stood by Bumblebee's own berthside as he recovered from Virus's attack in the Black Expanse? Or was Optimus conjuring someone else to torture him? Elita One, perhaps…?

Easing free of Chromia and Ironhide, Bumblebee wandered to Optimus's side, laying a questing hand to his leader's wrist. Startle from the intensity of his reverie, Optimus's optic ridges shot high, staring down at the little yellow scout in surprise.

"Are you…?"

Optimus quickly let his faceplate fall back into regal neutrality, a hard mask to penetrate if it wasn't for his expressive optics. "Don't worry yourself with me, little one," he assured. His arm slid over the scout's shoulders, drawing him to his side. "You needn't worry about Arcee either. She is in capable hands."

Bumblebee leaned against his leader's side, taking as much comfort from him as Optimus did the same of the scout's presence.

"Virus, ease your weight on the right- you're buckling her arm," Ratchet ordered.

With a grunt, Virus removed her weight. Trojan wisely stepped up to pin Arcee's arm so she could not go writhing about.

Worm grabbed one of the many assorted devices they had brought with them, setting it on the berth as he ducked beneath Virus' barrel chest, opened her panel, and connected the device.

"What's that?" Wheeljack asked suspiciously, not recognizing the design. It appeared homemade.

"Grounder," Virus grunted. "If the virus tries to eject me, it'll take the- frag!" White sparks sizzled up the black cables. Both Arcee and Virus's optics flashed bright as the electric shock passed from one to the other. Instead of being thrown away like so many before her, Virus hunkered down, letting the current pass through her and into the grounder. Despite the grounder absorbing much of it, the experience was disturbing.

"Takes the shock, huh," Wheeljack finished, watching as Virus shook off the effect with little more than a growl.

"A pity," Ratchet grumbled.

"For you, perhaps," Virus replied darkly. "My team and I were breaking into too many secured mainframes and getting fried for it, so we had to make something to take the shock.

"I'd say it was clever, but I'm pretty sure you've probably used it to hack into Autobot mainframes," Wheeljack said.

"Save your compliments. They wouldn't go that far anyways." More sparks flew, and then the two injectors in Arcee's neck jerked out. "Damn, this is one strong virus." Yet it was said as if the beast were truly enjoying herself. "Strong programming, even has its own firewalls, backups… I've seen programming like this before somewhere…" Prodding further, muscling her way through streams of corrupted data, she did her best to get to the deepest controls of Arcee's processor. If she could just get one claw in there…

Trojan made a grunting sound, which Virus interpreted as a suggestion.

"That could work…" Backing up from the siege she was laying, Virus mentally turned around and charged the subconscious. The easiest route was through her recharge subroutines. Hooking mental claws in the sudden opening, Virus firmly wedged herself into the rapidly firing thought processes, shocked to find that the connection forged was bizarrely familiar.

Sensing that same familiarity, Arcee's wits came screaming back to her. Her vocalizer initialized- "YOU!" she screamed aimlessly, her fight renewed. "YOU'RE THE ONE!"

"_What did you do?!"_ Ratchet snarled, fighting against Arcee's wild convulsions.

"I have no idea!" Virus lied, struggling to keep the femme caged beneath her.

"DON'T MAKE ME DREAM! DON'T MAKE ME DO IT!"

"It's just nonsense! Ignore it!"

A flicker of suspicion darkened Chromia's faceplate, which transferred to Ironhide instantly through their bond. He bristled, expression turning as black as storm clouds.

The increased stress put on Arcee's frame weakened the already wavering connections between her limbs. Her right foot flew off. To the horror of everyone, exempting the mercenaries who found themselves enthralled, the release of one extremity seemed to be the catalyst for a chain reaction in the rest. Her lower leg disconnected, and then the foot of the other leg fell. One finger, and then another. Her thumb, her whole hand… Piece by piece, she fell apart.

"You've got to reformat her before she falls apart!" Ratchet roared.

"I can't back the virus out of her core programming! It's embedded itself!"

Trojan looked to have come upon a new suggestion. In his excitement, he released Arcee's flailing limbs, pointing at the femme's head and then smacking Virus in the center of her barrel chest. He did it several times.

"That could work…"

"We're running out of frame, bots! Hurry up if yer gonna do something!" Wheeljack yelled as he and Worm worked prepare the new frame. Ratchet instantly fell into line, using his saws to cut open Arcee's chest and wrench open her sparkcase. Their audience was too entranced by the happenings to bring themselves to look away from the brilliant light of Arcee's spark.

Virus reared on the berth, causing the supports to groan and bend. Arcee, now only a head and torso, dangled grotesquely like a puppet. Knowing what was to come next, Trojan slapped open his cohort's interface panel and yanked out the cord. Worm wrenched the prepared empty frame out of Wheeljack's arms, putting it within range. The cable was rammed into the port with near-violent intention. A gasping, gurgling noise sputtered from Arcee as her spinal column slid out; her head remained attached to her torso by only wires. A deep, guttural noise emanated from deep within Virus, not grinding, growling, nor hissing, but something else just as ominous. It was the sound of some unknown structure working to capacity. Thick plumes of acrid black smoke started to billow out from her side vents.

"Her spark-!" she barked. "Transfer it!"

Ratchet saw his opportunity, dipping his hands in and cradling the delicate life shivering within. The moment the spark ceased touching the frame, Arcee finally fell to pieces. Virus crashed after that, falling forward and shattering the remains under her immense weight. Ratchet found Worm close, holding out the small frame expectantly, its chest and sparkcase open.

"Of course, of course…" Stunned, shaking, his hands trembling with how close they had cut it, Ratchet let Arcee's spark sink into its new home. In that instant, familiar signs of life crossed the frame's features; the slack faceplate twitched, armour shifted, shivered, vents dragged in their first drag of cooling air to clear the dust. The femme herself remained unconscious, which was probably for the best.

"Is she…?" Bumblebee whispered unsurely.

"She'll be fine now," Ratchet informed, albeit unsteadily. He narrowed a glare on Virus, who laid spread-eagle on the berth, shaking. "What did you do?"

"Manual filter," the beast grated out, her voice rougher than usual. "I ran her entire processor through my-," she coughed raggedly, letting a plume of black smoke puff out from between her teeth, "-my viral reservoir; the programming in it is designed to pick up and store viruses. Whatever was left was transferred to the new frame. She's going to need a lot of reprogramming for the corrupted data."

"What of the virus?"

"I have it now."

Shocked, Ratchet spluttered, "You infected yourself?"

Virus looked distinctly irritated. "No. The reservoir is separate from all my other internal structures. I have the virus, but I am not infected with it. It's just going to burn for a while." She threw a smouldering stare at Arcee. "She should be fine now."

Optimus stepped forward, reaching for the quadruped's shoulder. "Thank you-."

She shrugged away from him. "I don't need your thanks. This was just a contract." With Trojan and Worm's help, she hobbled to her feet. It required both mechs to hold her upright.

Chromia's faceplate was hard as she came close, daring to ask, "Where did it come from? The virus, I mean? Could you tell who coded it?"

Virus faceplate twisted into a self-deprecating sneer. "It's Starscream's programming- I'd recognize it anywhere."

_"Starscream?"_ Chromia exclaimed.

"He most likely meant it for Lord Megatron, but decided to test it on someone else," Virus spat. "Even in death, that pit-spawn fragger still haunts me." That vainglorious cretin had had an antivirus for her best Alpha-class infection hidden away all this time and even had his own infection designed on top of it! All meant to kill her lord! That disgusting, double-crossing, wretched fragger! If she could kill him again, she would! But... if he already had the antivirus, could that mean he survived her attack months before? Could he be _alive_ somewhere? Primus damn it!

"You don't look so good," Wheeljack intoned, frowning.

Virus glared balefully.

"If you need time to collect yourself before you move on, you're welcome to stay in the clearing," Optimus invited. He was not such a fool to let them stay inside the ship.

Making the decision for her, Virus's cohorts bowed and then proceeded to bully their four-legged friend down the ramp towards Megatron's frame where the three of them could rest.

Ironhide rumbled something darkly, not glaring outward at the mercenaries but inward at Arcee's new frame.

"What was that?" Ratchet prompted sharply.

"I said, the moment she comes to, you damn well better turn off that Decepticon signature modulator. There's enough of those online around here."

Ratchet rolled his optics as relief and a release of tension eased through everyone. "I will take that as your own way of being happy that she's alive."

* * *

Absolutely gorgeous. Stunning. Magnificent. Regal. Almost… _divine._

While Trojan and Worm had long since engaged their recharge subroutines, Virus had yet to take her optics from Megatron's frame. She was utterly entranced by it, enchanted in a single-minded, hypnotized way. A part of her felt whole again to be in his presence. She knew he was dead and gone, that his spark was in some great afterworld of perfection, and a deep part of her spark still mourned the loss with abject horror, but still there was a piece of her that thrived to be standing in his frame's shadow once more.

Even in death, he was so achingly _beautiful. _

If she stared at him long enough, the burning pain in her chest went away. _All_ her pains went away. What memories the _Loki_ dredged up of her lover were suppressed by Megatron's majesty. Her aching spark soothed by cool breezes scented by sea salt and rot. Even the damning thought of Starscream's possible survival was swept to a dark corner. Her mind played to the fantasy that her lord still lived, that he merely napped beneath the trees and allowed Virus the honour of standing guard.

As she continued to play to the fantasy, it grew, stretched, and elaborated. She pictured Megatron cycling air out his vents, regal and content in recharge. From behind her, she could hear sounds from the _Loki_. Not actual sounds, but part of her fantasy, patches of the past. Voices of the dead, back to life simply to taunt and tease; she heard her lover's voice again, a handsome sound that was as fluid as the energon he often spilled. Mixed with that voice was his brother's, playful and light. She imagined them joking, one goading the other to paint Megatron's faceplate while he recharged. Virus half-expected to hear her designation be called out; she listened for "_Moonie_!" to flutter in the night, expecting to be invited into their games.

So real was the expectation that she turned her head to the hatchway, only to be disappointed. There was no flash of gold to greet her, nor the dance of red. She was not Moonfly anymore. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been dead for a very long time.

Sighing, she turned back to her only solace.

"Why is it that those I love all end up dead?" she queried to the silent corpse, expecting no answer.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, a shift of cloud over moon, or even her own optics playing games with her, but Megatron's optics _changed_. Not changed in the sense that they were alive again. No. They were still dark. Still… dead. But they were not empty. Something was definitely staring out of them. A dark, hypnotizing force churned behind the lenses.

The feeling beckoned her.

"My lord?" She eased to her feet, creeping forward. A freezing, numbing cold swept her. A terrible presence seemed to rise in the air, making the sky darker, the moon dimmer, the air colder… Virus was drawn by a gravity she had no strength to resist.

And then there was a blade at her throat.

"You sick, twisted gitch," Arcee snarled, optics flashing in the night.

The moment shattered, the presence gone.

Virus subsided, setting back on her haunches. "I see you are online."

The blade dug closer, not liking the tone the beast was using. The new frame she inhabited was of the same height as her last, nine feet at its highest, but the Decepticon build made her look several times more formidable. Virus stood fifteen feet at the shoulder, so the femme was required to stretch in order to hold the energon blade, which she'd stolen out of Chromia's subspace pocket, to Virus's neck.

"I know who you are," the femme spat.

"Who am I, then?" Virus asked, unafraid.

Arcee's red optics smouldered deeply, fury rocking her. "All these vorns, I've been thinking I was going crazy. _Fragging crazy! _But it's been you all this time! You've been hacking into my head and _using_ me! You disgusting monster!" The blade pressed deeper, sliding between slates of plating, inching closer to an energon line.

"Do you have any proof?" Virus enquired nonchalantly.

Arcee snarled, not about to be trifled with. "I know it was you! I felt it when you were in my head!" She shook with the force of every violent emotion hitting her. "You're the one who's been in my head all these vorns. All those dreams I had were _real_; it was all _you_ using _me_ like a _puppet_."

"And what do you want to do about it?"

The femme gaped, trying to find the words that were powerful to embody what she wanted to spit in the beast's face. "I'll kill you."

Virus laughed mirthlessly, her gaze rising to Megatron briefly. "So I'll get what I want, and my assistants here will online and kill you in retaliation. A wise plan."

"Damn it, you glitch! Don't laugh at me!" Snarling, Arcee whipped away, pacing furiously. "Don't you ever, _ever _try to get into my head again. Don't even think about it! Don't even entertain the idea! If you do, I'll tell everyone what you've done to me in the past and they'll give you a worse fate. I swear to Primus, if you ever violate me again, I'll do worse than kill you."

Virus at least gave the femme a fair consideration, and then inclined her head. "Fair enough." It did well to put a greater dent in her debt to the Autobots over Megatron's frame.

Shock made Arcee skid to a halt. "That's it?" she hissed.

"I'm in a generous mood." She turned, regarding the hatchway now filled with yellow armour. Bumblebee looked torn between racing after Arcee and shooting Virus point blank. "Go, return to your faction. We're done here. Contract set."

Arcee bristled. "Don't go back on your word, Decepticon."

"I break promises all the time. Contracts I do not," she replied evenly. Struck by the desire to be away from the clearing, away from the fuming femme, the _Loki,_ her cohorts, even a breather from the oddity that had become of Megatron's frame, Virus rose to her feet and loped into the dark woods. Arcee spat after her, only to have Bumblebee herd her back into the safety of the ship.

* * *

Sunstreaker startled from the light doze he'd fallen into. Straightening from the crooked pose he'd slouched into, he cast a cursory glance about to see what had disturbed him. Nothing obvious called to him, so he passed it off as a cloud gliding across the moon. He didn't bother to check his chronometer for either Cybertronian time or Earth time, finding nether would help when he still felt so… restless. Prickling on the edges of his consciousness was an awareness that he could not pin down.

It was only when he moved to his feet did Sideswipe snap from his own doze.

"**Where are you going?" **the red mech enquired.

"**For a walk." **He began to tread a path that would take him into the woods. Why he wanted to move into the woods, he didn't know. Trying to move through the thicket was frustrating, dirtying his armour while stray branches struck at his paint. It was as if the cold, curious moon were calling on him to come, and he was thoroughly trapped in the siren's song.

Sideswipe began to rise to his feet. **"Want me to come?" **

"**No." **

Surprised to be denied, the red mech nonetheless subsided to the ground. He felt his brother's odd compulsion, the need to wander, to seek, and while it resonated within him, he was not so strongly inclined to it. **"Alright, suit yourself." **

As expected, Prowl and Jazz were still online as Sunstreaker slipped around the house. Both heads turned toward him, one seeing the other not.

"**We must stay here," **Prowl intoned softly, sensing the strangeness that had come over the golden mech.

"**It's just a walk," **Sunstreaker replied, lacking all of his usual arrogance. His optics cast to the moon and then back to the tactician. **"I won't go to the ship, Prowl. I just need to be elsewhere right now…" **

"**Orders are orders-." **

Jazz laid a steady hand to Prowl's leg, patting it. **"Let him go."**

Prowl frowned. _**"Jazz..." **_

** "A walk is just a walk." **Jazz assured.

"**But still…" **

Jazz leaned in, smirking. Under the moon, the gouges driven into his faceplate were deepened in shadow. **"If somethin' were gonna happen, it would'a happened by now. Let him chase the moon if he wants to." **

Wrinkling his olfactory sensor at the phrasing, Prowl relented nonetheless. **"Fine, go on, but don't cause any trouble." **It would have seemed a useless order to impart on the previous Sunstreaker, pre-Earth as it were, who was, for lack of a better term, a sparkless psychopath. This new Sunstreaker, however, appeared to have a glimmer of something different in him.

"**Isn't it usually Sideswipe causing trouble?" **Sunstreaker intoned humouredly.

"**I heard that!" **snapped his twin.

Prowl rolled his optics, though the ghost of humour crossed his features. **"So it would seem, but you've caused your own fair share," **he said. **"Nevertheless, enjoy your walk." **

"**I will." **Before Sunstreaker knew what he was doing, he bowed. Upon rising, surprise was written as clearly on his faceplate as it was on Prowl's. To both their memories, this was the first time Sunstreaker had ever _bowed_ to the tactician. Yet he'd done so without even thinking. Not wishing to dwell or be questioned on his actions, he quickly turned and disappeared into the trees.

As he drifted off resonance scanners, Jazz leaned close and asked, "**What did he do?" **

Prowl shook his head, realizing belatedly that Jazz would not see the gesture. **"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you." **

Even reliving the event in his head, Sunstreaker himself was having trouble understanding what had come over him. When no answer came, he tried to shake it off. It was just more restlessness piled on top of restlessness, making him feel like a great big ball of nerves. He ran a hand over his faceplate, trying to get a grip. He hardly felt like himself anymore. What he really needed was a good sparring match to work the extra energy out. Better yet- a real fight, no holds barred. Even the chance to turn around and hit Sideswipe for no reason was tempting.

Sunstreaker sighed, at a loss of what to think of himself. All he could do was keep walking. As he absently followed pools of moonlight, he found himself diverging from the path he'd originally been set on. Where he wandered now was denser, being only a half-formed footpath meant for humans rather than a creature of his size. The trees were larger, spaced closer together. Why he felt compelled to push down a path he could barely fit on, he didn't know. Silver moonlight glinted off fir bristles, turning evergreen into a silvery beetle-green. The dappled ground was all shades of a ghost- greys, whites, and ice blues.

That's when a ghost truly did cross his path.

Head snapping up, frame rigid, he could have sworn he felt… a spark he hadn't felt for a very long time.

Crackling of something moving through the trees caught his attention. His restlessness finally coming to a head, he bolted without thinking. Crashing through the woods, heedless of whatever ungodly noises he was making, blind to the gouges being imparted to his immaculate paint, he was pulled on a wild whim. Desperation flung him through the darkness. It was the same desperation that used to claim him when he was a newly recruited Autobot furiously tearing into Decepticons on the battlefield, wanting nothing more than to forget himself, his brother, and a tiny beetle-green bot buried at the bottom of Kaon's collapsed gladiatorial ring. However, instead of running from something, he was running headlong into it.

Rationality told him it was a glitch in his scanner. He wanted to tell himself the dead didn't come back to life. Every time he wanted to tell himself that, an image of Jazz burgeoned to the forefront of his mind. No matter how impossible… No matter how fantastical…

The tree line broke abruptly, leaving the Autobot to stumble into the sharp rise of a mountain. Disorientated, he spun back to the trees, preparing to dive back in to chase ghosts on moonbeams. Movement on his periphery snapped his head around, zeroing in on several shaggy trees shivering as something pushed through them. As if sensing Sunstreaker's stare, the thing stopped before hitting the open incline.

The spark was close enough for Sunstreaker to be sure. There was no mistaking it.

Movement through the trees started again, though at a much slower pace. Something growled deeply.

Sliding unsteadily down the gravelled incline, he felt as if his legs were about to go out from under him. He wanted to run ahead, yet run away at the same time. His optics were glued to the spot where he knew the other would appear.

"Come out," he called unsteadily.

Smouldering red optics suddenly burned into being from the shade, nearly on par with Sunstreaker's own. A moving shadow, black as tar, prowled between trees, brushing branches and thin trunks aside, coming closer. What dragged into the moonlight was not the shape the mech was expecting; it was huge, lumbering, it's faceplate blunt and grotesque. For once, he was blind to the superficial, only able to see what his spark felt. He saw an odd little medic, awkward and green. There was awe and fear written in every line of the other's frame, which he knew was a mirror of how he must have looked in that moment.

Stumbling down the rest of the incline, he steadied himself on a tree trunk. His optics were glued to his company; his spark was caught in a fluttering limbo where it couldn't decide if it wanted to race or stop all together.

"Moonfly?"

Red optics flashed.

Sunstreaker shook his head, working extra hard to grasp at words that kept slipping away. "_How?_ I thought you were…"

Shock and awe fell from Virus's faceplate. Her features fell into a mask of agonized denial.

"_You're not real,"_ she stated, and then, with fangs and claws, she lunged at him.


	45. Paths Diverge

**Balrog Roike**- So many more questions than I can give answers for, my friend! I wish I could spill all, but all I can say is read and find out. ^_^; I'm actually amazed that you've found a part of Virus to sympathize with- she's not an easily likable character… As for your wonderings about the virus/antivirus situation, you have a few things mixed up, which is understandable since the time between Punch procuring the antivirus and now has been considerable. Punch didn't steal the antivirus; it was given to Counterpunch directly from Starscream. It was created for himself as protection against Virus should she ever feel the need to attack him, but he took it a step further and coded a 'leprosy' virus into the antivirus itself to give to Megatron some orn. Starscream gave it to Counterpunch as a test run to see if it worked, which it did, only we saw the effects on Arcee instead. I hope that clears things up. =)

**Chickentyrant5**- lol~ I was hoping to surprise a few people with that ending =P I didn't want to linger too much on Jazz's blindness since turning it over and over in the plot would get redundant and boring. ^^;

**FunkyFish1991**- Oh Fishy, my Fishy, how could I have ever doubted you? You may have shot holes in the barrel of my heart with that first review, but you patched it back up right nice with the next two. *huggles you* And you bring up an amazing point that I never realized about Virus, even as I've been developing her- her transference of love. I've always chalked up her obsession with Megatron to be in due part to her programmed loyalty, but you make a stunning case for the fact that after Sunny and Sides are presumed dead, Moonfly flips out and becomes engrossed in her worship of Megatron to cover it up. You haven't met Moonfly of the past yet in Surface of the Sun, but her loyalty programming only goes so far- she's not as intense, to say the least. Just really awkward. But I love writing her so intense over Megatron's corpse! XD Is it wrong that I enjoyed writing Virus's necrophilic-fantasy-stalker moment with Megatron? =D (Oh, by the way, I finally managed to comment on just one thing in your review! Yay! =D )

**Chloo**- The chapter is actually the longest I've ever written- nearly 30 pages in MS Word. X__X But, like you said, the length offers a way to see from several different POVs, which was a little necessary for a chapter like this. ^^; I'm glad you like the idea of Arcee being in that Con frame, that it makes her more "mature" and dangerous- I was actually thinking the same thing! XD As for what will become of Sunny and Virus… their craziness isn't just one-sided. They'll have to refrain from killing each other. ^^;

**Bluebird Soaring**- It was an intense chapter, wasn't it? In a twisted kind of way, I'm happy to hear that you were affected by the Arcee-going-to-piece scene; I really wanted to make readers squirm. =P As for Sunny's recovery… well, he _was_ on the road to recovery. It's hard to say what will become of him now. ^^; But, keep and eye on that Sunstreaker-bowing-to-Prowl thing; it was one of my favourite scenes to write, but it's only a little taste of the undercurrent that is just beginning between the two to them. *devilish grin* I'm a Jazz/Prowl shipper, of course, but twists and complications are what I'm all about. ^_^

**The King of Pain**- Thanks for reading my works, I guess. It would have been nice if you dropped a line so I could have thanked you before this. ^^; As for your question, I'm still very uncomfortable around infants and would prefer never to be around them, but I can write them with only a little bit of discomfort if I envision them as something else.

**Kittisbat**- My goodness, you're mighty excited over the Sunny-Virus reunion! It actually made me excited that you were excited! XD It's going to be an upward struggle for the both of them trying to come to terms with the new knowledge that they're both alive, and that's only if they both survive their initial attempts to kill each other here. Shakespeare was right when he said the course of true love never did run smooth. ^^; Your praise for my writing really does mean a lot to me~ Thank you so much for your enthusiastic honesty. *hugs*

**Lecidre**- Haha, it wouldn't have been a surprise if you knew Virus was going to attack Sunny. =P You won't have to wait long to find out what happened, though. I'm being nice for once and putting the fight scene in this chapter right here instead of making everyone wait for a few more chapters. XD As for Arcee's surgery… I was really aiming to freak people out with what was happening. But she's cured now =D And living in a Decepticon frame isn't so bad… I think. ^^; Ratchet could probably remodel her to make her look like an Autobot if she really wanted. ^^;

**Mischievous Crystal**- Thanks so much! Jazz is such a spectacular character, I couldn't very well leave him dead. He had to come back in style! XD

**Sebastian Nyte**- Oh, I have read the IDW version of Arcee, if only a little a little bit. From what I saw, she was pretty nuts, but still… I kinda liked it. XD I don't know if the WE Arcee will follow the same path… we'll just have to see what the future holds. The same kind of goes for Virus and Sunny. You won't have to wait so long, though. This chapter is all about whether or not they kill each other, or if some other force is going to do it for them. Hope you enjoy it! =D

Cosmic love and hugs to my wonderful peeps **FunkyFish1991, Lecidre**, **Litahatchee**, and **Violetlight**!

Special shout out to **FunkyFish**, who is the March Hare to my Mad Hatter. (Don't argue with me, I WANT to be the one with mercury poisoning!)

And special, special shout to **Lecidre** for her fantastic fanwork _Chase the Moon_ on deviantART! It's absolutely stunning!

**As We Come Together  
In Which Some Paths Diverge**

"_You're not real!" _

She hit like a blast from a nuclear explosion. One moment, Sunstreaker was standing upright. The next, he was being steamrolled into the trees so hard they were coming up by their roots.

In the astrosecond it took for Sunstreaker's mind to realize he was being attacked, his frame was already moving on memory. His feet planted into the ground, digging in. Claws unleashed, first slashing through helpless trees, and then locking into the unforgiving ground, giving him better drag. He could feel a truckload worth of dirt compacting in and under his back plating. It was going to be pit trying to scour it all out.

However, his surprise and consternation could only last for so long before old automatic responses kicked in. The void inside him where his berserker self lurked awakened, rose, and expanded. Optics that had been wide with shock turned to blank slates of glass. Excess emotion drained away. Pain dampened. The deafening crack of wood exploding under his weight turned distant. He no longer felt Moonfly's spark resonance. He didn't even feel his own.

That trembling switch in his mind that had been begging to be flipped finally got its wish.

By the time he managed to halt his momentum, he was already in battle mode. The thin veneer of civility that had been clinging to him like an ill-fitting glove ripped away. In its wake unleashed a snarling beast that was all too happy to fill the cold crevices of his frame and take control. A visceral need to fight pumped hard and merciless through his energon. It was a deep, wrenching need of primal fury that demanded action; it demanded release. His limbs itched to move in the old dance- slash, kick, jump, parry, punch, retreat, lunge-

_Kill. _

His vision blurred for a moment, until he swiped as his lowered battle visor to do away with the slick of slush. Gold flecks of paint came away in it. "You're going to pay for that."

Virus spat at him.

Sunstreaker leapt at her with a snarl, slave to his battle-lust.

Virus's roar was loud, deep, trumpeting her charge. Their combined vocal fury shook loose gravel off the mountainside. Terrified organic life forms fled for their lives. Humans for several miles either woke with a start from their beds or skidded to a halt in their cars. Those with religion started praying. Those who didn't just hoped they didn't die.

There was rage in the Decepticon's optics, belying fear and horror so intense that Sunstreaker could practically _feel _it as he collided with his opponent. The resulting metallic explosion was deafening. A shockwave rippled the air. Claws clashed with jagged fangs, matched for both strength and deadliness. Wild sparks erupted into the night. The force of their collision was enough to throw them apart again. This did nothing to dampen their drives to destroy the other.

Sunstreaker flipped away, landing in a crouch. There was no uncertainty lurking in him anymore. No confusion. No restlessness. No… _anything_. He felt _free_ again. No more wondering. No more thought; it had never done him any good anyways, only managed to hurt him in a thousand tiny different ways.

In this arena, where lust and violence and every other boiling base urge raged, he knew exactly what to do, when to do it, and how to do it best.

He knew exactly what he wanted to do in that moment: rip his opponent's faceplate off.

He leapt again, smarter this time not to go directly for the faceplate. He feinted left, dodged under the thick neck, and spun on himself to rake his claws across the right side of the faceplate. Gouges appeared in the wake of blinding sparks. A nails-on-chalkboard screech screamed relentlessly into the night. He got hooked in one of the jagged slates along the side; with a grunt, he ripped the plating off. A brief spray of energon lit the night. The roar that followed was even louder than the first trumpeting call. The rage of the beast grew even wilder, more feverish.

That was good- for him, at least.

The more the beast lost it, the less control it would have. That left Sunstreaker with the distinct advantage; he was still cold and sharp like a diamond's edge. If he felt anything at all in that moment, it was satisfaction in knowing he'd gotten the first good blow in. Other than that, he was thankfully, blessedly, empty inside.

Virus slashed with her front claws. Fangs gnashed with a vengeance. Occasional plumes of oily black smoke drifted from her vents. Warning notices flashed in her vision, informing of her infrastructure's weakened state; the more she fought, the more dire the message. There was no time to care about any of that, though. She had her claws full trying to kill an Autobot that wouldn't stand still. That was enough for her to deal with.

Her golden opponent dodged around another swipe, too small and quick for her attacks to be entirely useful against him. She was better suited for doing battle with larger bots, where she could rear and grapple with them. She could overpower them by weight, or if it suited her, she could bite their heads off if they leaned too close. If she had the use of her viral injectors, she would have happily employed their use by now. Unfortunately, that would have required her quicksilver opponent to slow down a few notches.

Sunstreaker was far too bent on killing to do something stupid like that.

He risked a lot by staying within such close range. She might not have been quick, but she was strong. The power behind a single clawed strike was enough to rend his armour to ribbons. It went without saying what kind of damage could be inflicted if she got her armour-shearing teeth into him. However, this was how he _had_ to fight. There was no other option but close-range. Not wanted to or even needed to, simply had to. Long-range assaults with guns never felt as real to him. If he couldn't feel the energon on his hands, than he might as well have not have killed at all.

"You imposter," Virus snarled, snapping at an arm that flashed by. "You disgusting, wretched little beast!"

"Look who's talking!" he snapped back.

"You lying monster!" Virus bellowed a curse that was indistinguishable from her ragged roar. Her world was condensed into destroying the lie that taunted her right to her faceplate. That was all it could be: A Lie. An Imposter. A Ghost. Some damned trick the Autobots cooked up to torture her; it fit so well with the _Loki_ theme. He couldn't be real. She knew the truth. The orn the rings had been bombed, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had run ahead to escape. They had never come out. Megatron said they had gotten lost. Megatron said they had gotten caught in the blast. Megatron said they had been buried.

Megatron. Said. They. Were. **Dead.**

It did not matter that his paint was the exact same shade of deep golden-yellow that Sunstreaker always wore. It meant nothing that his fighting style was eerily similar to what it had been in the gladiatorial rings. It _had_ to be some kind of trick that the creature's spark had the same funny resonance that Sunstreaker's always had- exactly half of a proper wavelength, only whole when he was near his twin.

None of that mattered.

If Megatron said they were dead, they were dead. It was indisputable truth.

It created another truth, as well: the aberration had to die.

She lunged again, prepared this time for the other's feint to the left. Sunstreaker knew she was ready to counter. He tensed like a coiled spring, prepared to leap away and attack from another angle. In the split astrosecond that he had to move out of harm's way, a burst of alarm suddenly seized him. Not his own panic, but Sideswipe's. The distraction was enough to throw Sunstreaker off-balance. He stumbled on his next step. Virus was on him like a storm. He leapt too late. His ankle became caught in the bear-trap that was the quadruped's maw.

A new light came into the beast's optics as she realized the prize she now held. With a laugh that was as crazed as it was delighted, she swung him in a giant arc straight into the last standing trees. The impact rattled him right to the core. Wrenching him away, she then swung him into the rocky incline. The trees again. The rocks again.

She then proceeded to vigorously, mercilessly, shake him like a rabid bulldog with a ragdoll it _hated_.

* * *

Sideswipe had been privy to his brother's initial shock, but had passed it off as something environmental. The roars that lit the night could have been thunder… if he _really_ wanted to delude himself. It could have just been Sunny, off by himself letting off some steam. It wouldn't have been the first time any Autobot needed an outlet. Primus knew, Sunny needed a violent outlet from time to time.

It was only when the old, sickening feeling of having their connection ripped away that Sideswipe shot to his feet. He knew instinctively that this was not the death of his brother, which was not much of a comfort in that instant. Cold nausea, a black void; it was the death of a part of his brother- the living part that died every time he engaged in battle. Something had set Sunstreaker off.

An instant of unadulterated alarm shot through him, piercing the deceiving black void. It wasn't as thick or unforgiving as it usually was. More like an comfortable, wavering veneer. He knew the moment Sunstreaker felt his wondering inquiry. A lash of frustration slapped him in return, telling him unequivocally to _frag off!_ The message was cut off so abruptly, Sideswipe knew that the minor distraction had cost his brother dearly.

"Frag!"

"Where are you going?" Prowl yelled the moment he saw Sideswipe sprinting for the trees.

"Sunny's in trouble!" With no further explanation, he dove into the woods. There was no need to look to the ground to follow obscure footprints. He had a better built-in system that would lead the way.

A transmission threaded through all the Autobots' heads, waking a few and distracting others. The Prime's voice rang true-

"_What is going on?" _

"I don't know! I don't know!" Sideswipe replied loudly over several honest replies of not knowing. In his distraction, he replied both out loud and in transmission. The panic in his voice singled him out. He vaguely heard Ratchet over the communal line growling something accusatory like- "_I knew you had something to do with it." _

"_You know something, Sideswipe," _said Prime, using a tone that was not directly a command but compelled Sideswipe to spill everything he knew anyways.

"I do- I might… I don't know!" An intense flash of pain crossed through his bond. It was empathetic pain, feeling what Sunstreaker felt, just not to the same degree. Both brothers had suffered pain unimaginable before, so this was of little distraction. The tangle of close-set tree trunks Sideswipe tried to cross through at the same time as receiving this flash of pain was, unfortunately, very distracting- especially when said tangle hooked on to his foot and took him to the ground. Spots of light exploded in his vision as he landed on his chin.

"_Explain-." _Prime tried to encourage. He was cut off by Ironhide's thundering bellow over the channel-

"_That fragging slag heap is gone!" _

Sideswipe suddenly found a pair of black-and-white arms circling him, strong hands heaving him up. Prowl was there, urging him to run in whatever direction his spark told him to. The tactician had one hand to his audio, trying to keep the conversation straight.

"Slag heap? One of the mercenaries?"

"_Virus!"_ Ironhide snarled.

"_Arcee and Bumblebee have gone after her!" _Chromia suddenly intoned.

"_That's just like putting gas on a fire!" _Ratchet snapped.

Sideswipe made a deeply frustrated noise as he skidded to a halt. Too many voices. Too many distractions. He couldn't concentrate. Prowl wisely slowed to allow the other to get his bearings.

The red mech revved anxiously. "Sunny- Sunny's been feeling off lately. Feeling weird. I thought he was just going for a walk. He must have been looking for a fight." He was babbling. Oh Primus, he was babbling like Bluestreak having a panic attack. Not good. Not good. Not good!

"_Sideswipe, you need to focus," _Optimus instructed. _"Can you locate your brother?" _

"Yeah, I think so-." A thundering roar conveniently echoed over the landscape. The warrior's gaze cast to the sky, his faceplate firming. "I know where he is." The armour of his back started rearranging, his jetpack forming. A deep, thunderous growl from the thrusters shook the immediate area. He shot Prowl a hard look, flinging out his hand. Without sparing a thought, Prowl grasped it.

"We're on our way," the tactician announced, and then dropped out of the channel.

Sideswipe didn't give so much of a verbal warning to his fellow Autobot as he crouched low, and then leapt. His thrusters powered on high for the extra thrust to get them airborne. Prowl tensed, his frame following his arm up. Having plenty of experience with carrying extra loads while using his jetpack, Sideswipe was easily able to adjust their positions so that his baggage was comfortable and not in danger of being burned by white-hot plasma. Sweeping the sloping valley for anything that looked amiss, he settled for the area where trees appeared to be spontaneously flying out of the ground by their roots. He was urged on by a feeling of being _pulled_ that ran deeper than instinct.

Dropping low over the rapidly expanding clearing, the spark resonances from several bots registered and clarified. First was Sunny's, which was recognizable to Sideswipe even without his resonance scanners. The next resonances belonged to the pair of Autobots bursting out of the trees just below him, both heaving. Arcee looked particularly wild as she brandished Chromia's energon knife. The intent in her optics spoke volumes of how badly she wanted to use it. And lastly, there was…

"_You?!" _

Prowl's gaze flicked up in curiosity, and then dropped back to the offending Decepticon. There was nothing about the beast that would lead him to believe that the spark within once belonged to the tiny green bot Sunstreaker claimed to be his lover. All he saw was a Decepticon trying to kill his comrade, or his comrade trying to kill the Decepticon. It worked either way. Whatever the case, he couldn't very well shoot at a fellow Autobot, so he aimed for the quadruped instead.

Sideswipe stiffened. "No, wait-!"

"I have a clear shot," the mech assured.

Three acid pellets hit with incredible accuracy.

Virus's shoulder and flank hissed as the acid spread, reacted, and foamed into a burning blanket of armour-eating agony. Sunstreaker had luckily heard the telltale metallic _plink-plink-plink_ of the pellets exploding, able to dive away before backsplash coated him. A few stray drops patterned his forearm, burning instantly. He snarled, raking up handfuls of loose dirt to counter the chemical burn. Next to him, Virus did not fare so well. She suffered the combined weight of Bumblebee and Arcee barrelling into her non-acid-burning side, going down hard and heavy. The dirt she suddenly found herself smothered in neutralized the acid. However, the angry fists and blades pounding into her were only causing more problems.

Disengaging from Sideswipe's grip, Prowl dispatched himself to separate the two Autobots from the one already-down Decepticon. He soon discovered that it was not an easy task. They were quite intent on doling out what they felt was deserved revenge. The quadruped helped nothing by twisting to her feet and allowing a rocket launcher to form from her shoulder. Bumblebee reacted automatically, firing on it.

"Stand down!" Prowl bellowed, grabbing the muzzle of the scout's cannon and thrusting it up. There was a look in the minibot's optics that promised grievous bodily harm if he got his hands on the beast. "Bumblebee, I order you to stand down!"

"Let me go!" the scout howled, fighting viciously to get out of the tactician's too-well-trained hands. Each move he made was countered flawlessly.

Arcee took up the gauntlet the moment her partner was impeded. Prowl reacted seamlessly. He hooked his foot around Arcee's leg and jerked her towards him, swinging his shoulder around to slap her with his doorwing. A crack of metal-on-metal resounded in the night. Dazed, the femme fell back. Bumblebee finally twisted loose of Prowl. He ran for Arcee's side rather than go after Virus again.

"Stay down if you know what's good for you," the storm-grey mech ordered darkly. He glared over his shoulder at the Decepticon struggling to rise. "That goes for you, as well."

Virus spat at him. Her faceplate was thoroughly driven through with gouges, as were large sections of her chest and front limbs. Rivulets of energon laced her dirty black armour. The imposter-Sunstreaker had put up a pretty decent fight. If she dared admit it to herself, he was almost as good a fighter as the real Sunstreaker had been.

Sideswipe conveniently dropped out of the sky next to his brother, falling to his knees in order to help pack dirt into the acid burns. Sunstreaker may have looked like his brother, but everything from their bond to golden mech's vividly feral optics screamed that he wasn't in his right mind at the moment.

"Sunny- snap out of it!" the red mech ordered. "Come on, snap out of it, you glitch!"

Sunstreaker snorted, ignoring him.

"For Primus' sake-." Sideswipe took hold of Sunstreaker's faceplate, smearing it with dirt. He held on so mercilessly, the sharp edges of his thumbs bit into the paint. Normally Sunny could come out of a berserker fit just fine on his own. He did not need Sideswipe risking his life and limbs to get this close. Unfortunately, this case called for desperate measures. Locking gazes with Sunstreaker's wild-empty optics, he tightly demanded, "Snap. Out. Of. It."

While Sunstreaker was, in a manner of speaking, blind and deaf in the condition he was in, he certainly felt the force behind his brother's words. Through the forced void between them, an insistent wriggling feeling came to be. A very familiar feeling.

"This is going to hurt you more than it will me: don't kill me for it."

Sunstreaker was then mercilessly slapped across the faceplate.

"_Wake Up!" _

The world suddenly came rushing back with shocking clarity.

Sunstreaker first became aware of that his brother was looming in front of him, one hand poised to strike again. That realization was followed by a stinging sensation spreading across his faceplate. Neural wires came alive again, screaming of injuries he didn't remember receiving. His arm burned, blistered from acid. His foot was mangled. Both headlights were smashed out. He was left with the distinct feeling of having been used as someone's gold-painted chew toy. He recognized all the pain, feeling it intensely, but was still left in a voided daze. It wasn't all connecting…

When Sunstreaker failed to collect himself as quickly as Sideswipe would have liked, he got a not-so-subtle astral slap to the spark and a good physical shaking that did not help feeling like an abused chew toy.

"Sunny! Sunny, listen to me! _Look at me, dammit_!" Sideswipe gripped his chin, forcing optic contact. "What the pit were you thinking?!"

"I…" Sunstreaker's optics flashed a myriad of emotions as memories started flooding back. Not of the battle, but of those few precious astroseconds before. "I wasn't thinking." He scrambled to stand, forced to use Sideswipe for support when his mangled foot refused to support his weight.

"Why did you attack her?" Sideswipe pressed ruthlessly.

"She attacked me, and then…" He looked down to his blue-stained claws, flecks of black paint adhered to them by congealing energon. He knew how that energon came to be there, but he didn't have the memory of the actual attack. "I think I snapped."

"You did," Sideswipe growled darkly, frowning. He couldn't be sure if what he felt was concern for his brother, or disappointment. Regardless, his twin still received a good lashing of it, causing him to flinch.

"Did I hurt her? Where is she?" Refusing to meet Sideswipe's gaze, Sunstreaker searched for the black lump of metal he vaguely remembered. A raspy hissing shivered coldly through the air, snapping the golden mech's gaze past Prowl to the swaying thing beyond. His tanks churned sick while his spark stopped cold. "I did that?"

"Not _all _of it." Sideswipe grimaced as he too took stock of Virus swaying to her feet, stumbling forward, and then backing off drunkenly. She was blistered and oozing, obviously disorientated as her great head swung blindly from one yellow blur to the other, trying to decide which one she hated more. Bumblebee unhelpfully bristled, snarling back at her when she hissed at him. Sunstreaker made a jerk for her, only to be held back by his brother.

The roar of several angry engines erupted from between the trees. Distant at first, it grew closer with each successive tree rammed out of the way. Gunshot-like explosions announced the snapping of fallen tree trunks if the damn things decided to fall the wrong way. Optimus Prime's diesel-devil engine was drowned out by the sound of Ironhide going down a gear and gunning hard through two trees growing too close together. What would have utterly destroyed an earth vehicle didn't so much as dent the monstrous black brute. He came in with his guns and headlights blazing.

Virus reacted exactly as any disorientated death-driven Decepticon would while surrounded by her enemies. One moment, she stared madly, blindly into Ironhide's headlights. The next, she put her head down and charged like some giant, rabid animal.

Having been waiting all night for a reason like this, Ironhide was on his feet with his cannons charged before anyone else could blink. He didn't need to aim. He'd be insane to miss.

A strangled noise escaped Sunstreaker, embodying so many frantic emotions at once that he felt as if he would explode from them all. He'd already lived through Moonfly dying once, he wasn't going stand around to watch it happen again! He was two strides away when he heard the high-pitched whine of Ironhide's cannons gearing up. One step away as plasma spewed out. He watched as if in slow motion as the super-heated plasma seemed to unfold forever on itself from the muzzles of the cannons. It was a self-contained super nova, growing brighter and hotter the closer it came.

In what could be considered one of the dumbest, most selfless moves he had ever done in a long time, Sunstreaker attempted to shove Virus out of the way. If he had been faster, a heroic move like that might have worked. Sadly, fate knew that Sunstreaker was no hero. As the whole of his weight rammed into Virus's side, her acid-weakened armour buckled. His arms sunk up to their elbows into her burring insides. A keening scream wrenched from the beast.

Sunstreaker watched his forearms disappear from sight in morbid fascination. Time grew even slower, into a succession of disjointed moments. From behind him, someone- _Sideswipe?_- call his designation. His spark beat hot and cold with panic. Right in front of him, he heard someone scream _"YOU IDIOT!" _That was Ratchet. It was oddly reassuring to hear him so close. Especially when all Sunstreaker heard next was the roar of super-heated plasma overtaking him.

Proximity assured everyone present would be blinded by the resulting flash of plasma-hitting-living-metal. The following explosion was felt more than heard, washing over them in a tidal wave of hot burning-metal scented air. Silence settled in the aftermath. A strange, empty ringing settled in their audios. When their vision cleared and details came back into focus, Sunstreaker and Virus' fallen frames were sliding back down the incline where they'd been thrown. Behind them trailed a gory mess of glowing energon and pieces of themselves scraped away by gravel. A dull hissing rose from them as their white-hot armour touched frozen snow and ground. Neither bot was moving.

"I-." It took a lot to stun someone like Ironhide, but that… He stared down at his outstretched cannons, still humming in the aftermath. With conscious effort, he transformed his arms back and let them fall to his sides. "He ran-."

"Sunny!" Whatever Ironhide was going to say was forever lost as Sideswipe whipped into action. "Look what you've done! _Look what you've done!"_ he howled, tearing after his fallen brother. Lose gravel flew out from under his feet in his haste. He crashed to his knees by his brother's side, optics roving over the massacre that lay unmoving before him. Ironhide's attack had done exactly what it was supposed to, destroying Sunstreaker's arms and leaving a good portion of his chest mangled. Moonfly, Sideswipe noted through his haze of panic, look just as bad, if not worse.

"You shot him! I can't believe you fragging _shot him_!" Panic -laced words lit the night two shades short of a scream.

"It was an… accident," Bumblebee intoned unsurely.

"_I don't care!"_ Sideswipe screeched, falling deeper into agony the longer he stared at his brother. Everything looked horrible. It was hard to believe that not even an astrosecond ago, he had been holding his brother hale and whole in his arms. "Sunny? _Sunny?_ Come on, bro- gimme something. Wake up! Say something!"

He was met with silence as deep as the grave. If it was not for Sunstreaker's still-pulsing spark showing up on scanners, pulsing slowly, weakly, the red mech would have degenerated into far worse hysterics. He sat on the fine edge between holding it together and flying apart in every direction. Feverish optics swung around to his fellow Autobots, the bots that were _supposed_ to be his allies. His hands were poised over his brother's frame, twitching, frozen. He didn't know what to do. Couldn't think. Why were they all just staring at him???

"_Stop standing around! Help me!" _he demanded, snarling, scared. "Please, _please_, just help me!"

Prowl was suddenly there. He crouched between Sunstreaker and Virus, whose backs faced each other now. He tried to lay a hand to Sunstreaker, but found he couldn't quite go that far. He couldn't understand- _"Why?"_ His gaze drifted to Virus and then back again. "It doesn't make sense…"

"It doesn't have to make sense!" Sideswipe choked. He wanted to cry but kept gagging on the noises. "What do I do? Prowl, what do I do? Please, we gotta help him."

Prowl was by no means a medic, but since no one else was stepping up- shockingly not even Ratchet- he was just going to have to shoulder the burden. Scanning the mess that was Sunstreaker, he compiled a quick list of damages and what could be done.

"His energon lines have to be cauterized, and then we'll need something to weld the wounds shut-."

Without a second thought, Sideswipe started stripping himself of his armour. He ripped it from his arms. His legs. He felt the burn where his neural relays didn't shut down fast enough. It barely registered compared to the rising desperation strangling his spark.

Neither of them had a welder handy, so they improvised with a charged blaster. It was tricky, trying to apply heat to the slippery, slack energon lines without igniting the energon itself. One wrong move would detonate Sunstreaker. By some cosmic grace, they managed to cauterize everything they could, and then clamping and tying off what they couldn't. Sideswipe's ill-fitting red plates were melted down on top. They weren't done, but Sideswipe's darting gaze all but screamed that he was desperate to leap to Virus's side as well.

Two black forms dropped out of the sky just as the thought struck the red Autobot. Trojan Horse and Worm spared no time sliding to their cohort's fallen side. Their blunt, dull faceplates were laced with their own horror.

Sideswipe jerked in their direction, choking on words. "I'm sorry…"

The Decepticons didn't dare look up. They couldn't look away from their friend. Her chest was caved inward, the paint burned away to expose dull, charred-black metal. Along the uneven seam running down the center, a dull pulse of blue light flickered. Worm's shaking hands ghosted over Virus's caved in side, her exposed innards ticking and twitching in unvoiced agony. He was afraid to touch her.

Trojan sucked in a sharp drag of air, suddenly puffing up in livid indignity. He marched down the incline, waving his arms with the definite air of a mech screaming his spark out. The Autobots stared at him as if he were an alien. None were adept at filling in the blanks for such a strange and irate creature. When Trojan could no longer stand their blank stares, he huffed disgustedly, optics flashing. A look crossed his faceplate that was feral and rage-ridden. And then his hands were flying again. Not flailing in rage, but sharp, exact patterns that cut through the air like screaming knives.

_Sign language_, the Autobots realized.

"Look what you have done to her!" Trojan signed wildly. "We have shown you every courtesy! We have done as you have asked! We saved the life of one of your own! _This is how you repay us?!_" A deep, grating noise erupted from him; the audible embodiment of his rage, hurt, frustration, and disgust.

Worm made a similar noise, glaring. He dragged his smouldering gaze away from the Autobots and focused on his friend, now counting wounds, inspect them, digging gravel out. He looked across at Sideswipe, who met the Decepticon's stare with a jerky nod. They were on even ground here, helping their felled family.

Trojan continued on his tirade, as if an eternity of bottled up words were now spilling out through his hands. He signed so fast, his fingers became a blur.

"Your hatred for us makes you stupid! It makes you so blind!" the mercenary sign-shouted. "Ever since coming to this planet, all we have looked for is to be left alone! We don't want to fight anymore! We are tired of this stupid war! It is YOU who keeps it going! We come to this place to help you and all you have sought is revenge! You are picking the fights! You are the ones who cannot set aside the past or our factions!" He threw a wild hand back to Virus. "You killed Megatron, but do you see her hating you more than she already does? NO! She comes here to help you because she honours her contracts! Virus is mixed up, but she is good! You are not!"

"She lunged at us!" Ironhide stormed, breaking the silence that had lauded over them as Trojan berated them with his hands.

"_Did you give her any reason not to?!" _Trojan lost coherency, fists clenching spasmodically. If he had had a vocal processor to speak with, it would have shorted out by now. He calmed enough to start signing again. "You think you are better than us because you are Autobots. You forget that the energon in our lines is the same as yours. We all come from the same Allspark. You call us evil, but it is you who just shot your own mech!"

Leaving them gaping, Trojan swung on his heel and marched back to his companions. Like Sideswipe, he held no hesitation in ripping off his own armour to donate it to Virus. Worm accepted the plates of metal, punching them into the curved shapes needed to fit across the quadruped's chest and forelegs. They had been in her company long enough to have picked up at some medical expertise. Their patch jobs were cleaner than Sideswipe and Prowl's half-done work.

Worm cast a measuring glance at the Autobots' work, frowning darkly. Without invitation, he and Trojan inched between Virus and the fallen Autobot who had obviously put himself in danger to save her. With Sideswipe's armour already scattered about, they started bending it to better fit Sunstreaker. When there wasn't enough to cover Sunstreaker's chest, Worm disconnected a slate of his own armour and welded it in place.

Ratchet made an uneasy noise, moving forward.

Sideswipe shook his head viciously, flinging out an arm to stop the medic. "You know what? I don't want your help anymore!" He was irrational and only understood the deep-seated feeling of betrayal coursing through him.

"Sunstreaker needs proper medical attention," Ratchet intoned quietly.

"He doesn't need it from you. Go away." No one moved an inch. "GO AWAY!"

Prowl laid a hand to the red mech's arm. "Sideswipe…"

He shook the tactician off. "None of you understand," he snarled, doubling his clumsy efforts to help Worm and Trojan do whatever they were doing. "Dammit, none of you would fragging understand."

"Help us understand," the tactician murmured lowly.

Sideswipe's mouthplates opened and closed several times in an angry succession. It took many deep drags of air for him to finally be able to grasp the words that had been fighting to be heard since the moment he laid optics on Virus. _Moonfly_. A part of him still didn't believe what his sensors were telling him.

"Sides?" Prowl pressed, using the nickname awkwardly, softly.

Something broke in the mech as he heard his own designation called. If Sunstreaker could trust Prowl with his most guarded truth, then Sideswipe damn well could too.

"It's Moonfly," he whispered brokenly.

"What about her?"

"It's _her_, Prowl," Sideswipe replied waveringly, his gaze roving passed Prowl to Virus. "That's Moonfly."

Prowl jerked away as if burned, understanding dawning alongside blossoming horror. "I thought she was supposed to be…"

"Dead? Yeah. We thought so too. But here she is, alive- kind of…" Sideswipe shuttered his optics. He could feel his spark pattering against the inside of his sparkcase, still not settled. Not the least bit calm. How was he supposed to be calm when no one seemed to _stay dead_ anymore? It was scary and confusing and made his head and spark hurt.

Trojan tapped Sideswipe's hand gently, gaze enquiring. "This is Sunstreaker?" he signed carefully, nodding to the unmoving frame he was crouched over. He was so dirty and beaten that he looked like the complete opposite of what Sunstreaker was. Had the golden warrior been conscious at that moment, he probably would have denied his own designation for the sake of his reputation.

"Yeah, my brother," Sideswipe sighed shakily, despite whatever thoughts his twin might have about being identified in his current state.

The two Decepticon-Neutrals shared dawning looks of awe.

"She thought you were both dead," Trojan replied after a long fashion.

"Ditto." Sideswipe laughed weakly, shaking his head.

Prowl shifted an unsteady gaze between Sideswipe and the two Decepticons. They were all of similar height, but Sideswipe's lithe build was far outweighed by Trojan and Worm's heavy bulk. They had nothing more in common than the fact that they were involved with the two creatures broken and unconscious on the ground below them. However, in that very small exchange, the tactician had the very distinct feeling Sideswipe had found allies in the brutes. Prowl's own presence was no longer needed. He wisely started to inch away, leaving the small unit to do as they must.

Bright optics shot up, freezing Prowl to the spot. There was no invitation to come back on the red Autobot's faceplate. He searched for something else more important, an answer.

"You understand now, don't you?" Sideswipe asked.

"Indeed." He understood too well what would drive a mech to place himself in such vivid danger. He knew what it was to feel terribly, fiercely, openly, and wildly with one's spark, though he'd be loath to admit such a truth out loud. With Jazz's return so fresh in his mind, he could fully understand any of Sunstreaker's motivations.

"Good." By the look of his faceplate, Sideswipe really meant it. He was glad that one bot understood, even if it was the last mech he ever thought would understand anything.

With one last nod, the black-and-white mech melted away into the background with the other Autobots, now all congregated on the very edges of massacred clearing. They had become as unsubstantial as ghosts. Some had the sense to look wholly shamed in wake of the dressing down they just received. Others struggled to grasp at dawning revelations that were now coalescing in their minds. They cast silent, furtive glances Sunstreaker's way to watch the progress made, but none, save Prowl and Optimus, could seem to bring themselves to look upon Virus.

When all that could be done was done, Worm, Trojan, and Sideswipe sat back. An uneasy confidence settled just under the gloss of their paint. They knew, in the barest degree, that their two patients would _live_. Whether or not the two would be happy living with the half-bit repairs was another matter all together. Not one of them was willing to turn around to beckon Ratchet or Wheeljack up the hill for a consultation.

Worm grunted, garnering his new Autobot alley's attention. "Soundwave is very good with repairs," he signed. His sign language was a little awkward, seeing as he did not possess enough fingers for all the proper signs.

"Good for him," Sideswipe shrugged in reply.

"You and your brother may come with us. Soundwave will repair him," Worm insisted. He cast a wary glance to the other Autobots, clearly not in favour of leaving anyone in the hands of such hateful creatures. His red gaze was determined as it returned to Sideswipe. "You will be safe with us."

It should have been funny how he was being assured of his safety by a couple of no-good Decepticon mercenaries, yet all the red mech could feel was a deep sense of _relief_ sinking deep into his frame. He needed a cooling off period, away from the bots who shot his brother. No one simply got up and forgave for that sort of thing. It took time. Leaving with Trojan and Worm would give him that.

Sideswipe's gaze fell to Sunstreaker. He would need time, too. Not just to get over being shot, but to figure other things out. Like the Moonfly thing. That was definitely going to take a bit of time, if the fight he and Prowl had interrupted was any indication of things that needed sorting out.

"I would like that," the red mech finally said.

Worm smiled mutedly, and then transformed. Trojan and Sideswipe heaved Virus over one wing as mindfully as they could. Regardless of their care, something cracked along her underbelly. Her acid-eaten side crumbled a little more. Soundwave would have his work cut out for him rebuilding her… _again_. Sunstreaker was then laid out lengthwise along the other wing. He stirred, but did not wake. Sideswipe knew he was in pain because he could feel it, which only made him more determined to get away from where they were. He prepared his jetpack to follow Worm to the _Invader_, intending to help load his brother and Moonfly while Trojan collected their remaining supplies from the _Loki_.

After making sure Worm was able to chug his way into the sky, Sideswipe crouched to leap after him. Once in the air, he weaved low over the Autobots. He was reluctant to get too close.

"Hey, Prowl?" he called offhandedly.

"Yes?"

"You'll explain everything to them, won't you?" the red mech asked, tipping his head vaguely towards the rest of their faction.

"I will do my best."

"Um, _thanks."_

Optimus finally spoke up. "When will you be back?" He wasn't going to stop the mech. He didn't have the spark, not after what one of their own just did.

"I don't know."

The Autobot commander nodded solemnly. "I wish Sunstreaker a speedy recovery."

"I'll tell him you said that." There was nothing more to be said, so Sideswipe turned and left.

That left Trojan Horse alone on the incline. He was not afraid, but he did make for himself a very wide berth around the Autobots as he descended to even ground. He was not bothered by the heavy silence that hung palpably around him. A very determined air hung about him as he stiffly regarded the Autobots.

If any Autobot on the ground had been very good at figuring out what the odd Decepticon was saying to them without words, they would have heard another fluent tirade. As it stood, they were not fluent in Trojan and Worn's fill-in-the-blank way of speech. Nevertheless, the role reversal of the whole situation was giving them whiplash.

"This never should have happened," Optimus suddenly announced.

"But it has," Trojan hastily signed, slowing his trudging pace but not stopping.

The Autobot leader looked truly torn. "I am deeply sorry for you and your cohorts' pains."

"Words mean very little." He should know; he'd survived eons without words and got along just fine without them.

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will be taken care of, won't they?"

Trojan had enough respect for the pair to stop, jerking a nod. "They are very good mechs. They have very good sparks." He fixed the small crowd with a meaningful stare. "You should learn from them."


	46. Still Apart

**Elita One**- Yep, they found her, now what are they going to do with her? ^^; Prowl is an unusual figure… he doesn't necessarily _like_ the Twins at the moment, but he doesn't _dislike _them either.

**DramaStar-Mel**- It seems to be a theme of this series for everyone to have some tragedy or other in their past, Sunny and Virus being no exception. ^^; As for their future… only time will tell.

**Auracha**- It's all about statistics and current rates of popularity, my friend. 700 reviews is the sum total of all reviews, but says nothing of the rate of reviews per chapter. Recent chapters have seen a decrease in reviews, which is the only way for a writer here to gauge interest in their stories; without current reader input, how am I to know if I should continue my efforts in the story series or simply move on?

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- I'm flattered by such high praise, my friend! Writing the fight scene was both a challenge and a delight~ I can assure you that there will be more Virus/Twins interaction in the future, but whether it will be for better or worse, I can't say…

**The King of Pain**- Oh yes, most certainly you are redeemed~ Nothing can be worse than silence. I'm glad you enjoyed the fight scene. Action scenes are a lot of fun to write. ^_^

**Balrog Roike**- You raise a very good point in your review- something that I was planning to address in this chapter, in a roundabout sort of way… What kind of peace are the Autobots willing to fight for? As you saw in the last chapter, the Autobots are not perfect, and they're not all noble anymore. War has affected them all in one way or another. We can only hope that they sort themselves out soon.

**KyuubiSango**- lol~ It just takes a bit of creativity and perseverance, is all =P

**FunkyFish1991**- I enjoyed the bitter taste of your violent and caustic review, my dear. It was so much fun to read you jumping down everyone's throats. Your reaction was exactly what I was looking to raise in readers, and then you multiplied it by ten [thousand]. XD You reacted to everything I wanted readers to react to, and you did it with the force of a nuclear bomb! 8D Have I ever mentioned how much I adore you and your literary genius? Yes? Well, add your histrionics to the list! XD

**Juzu**- It's hard not to be on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's side, isn't it? Ironhide and the others didn't do much to make themselves look good. . We can all hope that things will work out, but sometimes… well, they don't. .

**Sebastian Nyte**- Hahaha, we can all wish that more people would review, but people are fickle things and all we can do is hope they'll be kind and indulge a few minutes for me. ^^; Thanks so much for the love on the fight scene- it was a pleasure to write =)

**Chloo**- I just about died when I read your review! You totally understood what I was trying to write! *cheers* This series is all about the grey; there is no "black-and-white" in life. The Autobots are always shown as "good" and the Decepticons are "bad", but what of their actual behaviour? Just because we call someone good doesn't mean all his actions are automatically good. It's like my father always said, "Question everything!" XD

**Lecidre- **Everything is quite a mess, isn't it? .Sunstreaker and Virus are all shot to pieces, Sideswipe is beside himself, the Decepticons are now acting "good" while the Autobots have suddenly become "bad"… I'm so happy that you see that I'm trying to put deep meaning into the writing. I want readers to look beyond titles of "good" and "bad" to the actions behind them. The biggest thing I'm writing about is the horrors of war and the toll it takes on everyone. Eventually, everyone breaks. =(

**Lady Tecuma**- Ironhide has some figuring out to do- he needs to get his priorities straightened out. He's a smart mech, so hopefully t won't take long for him to figure out what he has to figure out. =)

Special props to my peeps, **FunkyFish1991**, **Lecidre, Litahatchee,** and **Violetlight**.

_Miles and the Devil- _This is probably nothing and entirely unnecessary, but I wanted insert this for frame of reference; Miles is Wiccan (albeit a Wiccan who can be found trick-or-treating on Halloween and occasionally exchanging gifts with Sam on Christmas…) and therefore does not believe in the deity known commonly as the devil in Christian/Judaic/Islamic religion. However, he has a very open mind and doesn't want to say that the millions of people who do believe are wrong. This has led him to believe that the devil is some kind of alien (or aliens) screwing with the people of Earth.

_Switches from bold to plain writing- _Just a reminder that the use of bold generally connotes the use of Cybertronian within human earshot; beyond human hearing, it's simply considered normal speech.

**As We Come Together  
In Which They Come Back Together Yet are Still Apart**

They rolled onto base under an auspicious mid-day sun, the whole base a bustle around them. Hound flung his doors open to allow his passengers to tumble out.

"I'm telling you, there is something to these tabloids," Miles insisted as he scrambled to the ground. Behind him, Tungsten in vacuum alt mode tumbled rear-over-nozzle to the ground, landing on its back with its little wheels spinning in the air.

"No, there isn't," Sam replied earnestly, walking around Hound to put the drone right side up again. Miles certainly wasn't going to do it- he was too caught up in trying to convert his friends to his conspiracies.

"You need to be open-minded about this kind of stuff, bro," the blond exclaimed. In his arms were numerous examples of said tabloids, each sporting a headline that was just as unlikely as the last. He had spent the last hour of their drive with Hound trying to explain the hidden genius of them, all in vain. Sam and Mikaela were tough to convert to anything.

"Tabloids are just made up for conspiracy enthusiasts like you," Mikaela teased as she hopped from the Jeep's driver seat. "It's all _fake_. You know, like for entertainment? No one should take those things seriously."

"No way, no way, they're _pure truth_!" Miles whined. "Haven't you ever seen _Men in Black_? That's totally how it works! The truth is hidden right in plain sight!"

"The truth in plain sight? Are you even listening to yourself?" Mikaela laughed, much to Miles' consternation.

"Yeah, I am, and I sound like I'm right. Don't make me bring the whole _robots in disguise_ thing into this, because I totally will!" he threatened, pointing at Hound's stationary alt mode as a prime example of something (_someone_) hiding in plain sight.

Hound couldn't help but chuckle. He had watched _Men in Black_ with Mikaela and Chase not too long ago and had laughed so hard at it that he'd almost popped a couple bolts. The film was so incredibly off base that he knew only a human could come up with a script like that. Things did not improve when they had watched _Men in Black II_ after that.

Sam stole Miles' armful of tabloids to leaf through them. "Seriously, Miles?" he asked exasperatedly, holding up a few examples of Miles' _pure truth_. The headlines read as follows: "MAYAN CALENDAR WRONG: ARMAGEDDON IS NOW" "THE DEAD ARE RISING" "THE DEVIL IS AMONG US" and, lastly "PSYCHIC CLAIMS THE DEVIL IS AN ALIEN"

Miles squinted at the headlines, reading each with great deliberation. In the end, he found nothing wrong. "What's wrong with those?"

Sam tossed the magazines back with a huff that was borderline a laugh. For all the time he had known Miles, it still occasionally took him by surprise how _different_ his friend was from the average person. "You honestly expect us to believe the devil is an alien?"

"Sure," the blond shrugged. "It's not like there's any evidence that he's not."

"That's like saying Big Foot's real because no one can prove that he's not," Sam sighed.

Miles' eyes went as wide as saucers. "You know how I feel about Big Foot!" he wailed. _"He's real!"_

Mikaela rolled her eyes, appealing to the forest-green Jeep next to her. "Hound, tell him the devil _can't_ be an alien," she pleaded. "And please tell him Big Foot is a hoax too. He'll listen to you."

The Autobot rolled back a pace to transform. Once standing, he shrugged humouredly. "Sorry, but Ah can't confirm or deny the fact that your devil may or may not be an alien. Ah don't think it's in mah jurisdiction." He then flapped a dark hand in the air dismissively. "As for Big Foot- Ah kinda like the idea of him. He'd be a neat thing ta meet out in the woods."

She blinked up at him, stunned that someone as sensible and smart as Hound would betray her unerring trust in such an underhanded way. It was something Chase would do, but not sweet, honest, loyal Hound! It left her sputtering. "But-!"

"Hell yeah!" Miles whooped, punching the air in victory. "If Hound says it, then it's true!"

"It is not!" Mikaela exclaimed waspishly. "He's just too nice to tell you you're crazy to your face."

"Ah can't be the authority on all things, little one," Hound laughed, his bright optics sparkling. "There are countless alien species in the universe, so who's to say that others besides mah kind haven't visited here before? Ah'm willing ta bet there's been a few legitimate landings in the past."

"Don't encourage him!" Sam groaned.

Too late.

_"That is so freakin' awesome!"_ Miles crowed, now thoroughly delighted beyond measure. "What about crop circles, huh? Or abductions? Dude, you have got to give me the scoop on all of this! You're like the freakin' expert on aliens here, right?"

"You could say Ah'm an expert of a sort," the scout laughed. Culturally speaking, he was.

Sam and Mikaela glared dourly between their human friend and the Autobot.

Miles noted their thwarted expressions and grinned madly at them. "You're just jealous that Hound is on my side."

Mikaela squinted up at the towering Autobot above them. "Traitor," she sniffed. She said it in the same way she might have said _"I'm telling my aunt on you!"_ A little impudent, a little stubborn. Nevertheless, it made Hound chuckle.

"Aw, now, don't be that way. Ah was just trying ta be the… what's the phrase? Oh yeah, 'Devil's Advocate.'" He grinned, only to have Mikaela glare and pout while Sam ended up shaking his head. Miles' reaction was far more positive, laughing as he scored the Cybertronian two thumbs up of approval.

"Good one," he said

"Ah try."

"You people are hopeless." Sam got behind his wayward best friend and started bullying him towards the human sector of base. "We're going to go find something to do until Bumblebee and the others get here." He squinted up at Hound. "Any idea when that'll be?"

The scout shrugged. "We were only sent a general ETA. It'll be a few hours at most." He wasn't given much else in ways of information. Blaster had been oddly reticent in delivering that much.

Sam nodded. "Cool." He then continued on his way bullying Miles to the section of the base where they hopefully would not be in anyone's way for the rest of the day.

As soon at the two boys were far enough away, Mikaela beckoned for Hound to come down to her level. He did so promptly, crouching unreservedly so he was nearly eye-to-optic level. For his troubles, he received a quick little peck on the side of his faceplate. Any earlier consternation Mikaela might have felt for the mech was now gone.

"Thanks for the drive, Hound," she said softly.

Hound smiled warmly, blowing an affectionate draft of air across the female. "Ah was coming inta base anyways, so don't even think about it, Mickey," he said, adopting Chase's pet name for the girl. She didn't seem to mind. Her smile even widened a fraction when she heard it. "Any time ya need a drive, all ya have ta do is ask."

A splash of colour appeared across her cheeks. She looked down, scuffing her sneaker. "Yeah, well, you're sweet for doing it anyways. Thanks, Hound."

"Anytime, Mickey."

She smiled shyly, and then turned on her heel to trot off after her boyfriend and strange blond friend.

Hound watched her fondly as she retreated. The more time he spent with the human female, the fonder he became of her. She was a smart young thing, very friendly and outgoing, which contrasted fantastically with the shy manner in which she tended to show affection. Very much like her aunt, he mused; both outwardly confident, yet inwardly unsure of themselves, wary to trust others. He wondered if such qualities ran in their gene pool.

As if sensing his gaze, Mikaela stopped and peered back. Hound sent her a friendly wave. She giggled, waved back.

With an amused shake of his head, the Autobot angled himself towards the lift that would take him down a level. He had a holodeck to see to. All month, he'd been hearing complaints about the sluggish computing power and how images tended to gutter if the program was too fast or complex. Perceptor had taken a brief look, as had Blaster, but holographic technology was not their forte. Now that the complaints were becoming increasingly emphatic, borderline on whining, Hound had every intention of taking a look to see if there was anything he could do.

Before he went any further, the scout canted his head and called out to the squat building on his left. Mirage slid out from around the corner and transformed, making it no secret that he had been eavesdropping. Hound's optic ridge arched. Of course he had known his friend had been there, the question was _why_? Usually the spy felt eavesdropping was below him, so did better to hide his resonance signature so no one found out that he did it.

"Hello Mirage," Hound greeted in English.

"**Hello Hound,"** the ice-blue mech replied in definitive Cybertronian, extending his hand to brush with Hound's. Following that greeting, Mirage caressed the back of his hand to the side of the scout's faceplate. Hound rubbed his cheek to the cool metal, smiling affectionately.

"**Did someone miss me while I was gone?" **the scout teased.

"**Possibly," **Mirage replied in that muted way of his, never quite playful but subtly sincere. **"I've missed your particular brand of optimism around here. Where have you been?"**

Hound looked marginally surprised. **"I thought you knew."**

"**Know what?" **

"**I've been staying with the Banes." **

Mirage's optics narrowed, an instant frown on his mouthplates. **"It seems Smokescreen failed to mention that little detail." **

"**I guess he did…" **Glancing around at the bustling humans by their feet, Hound wisely started nudging Mirage towards the lift that would take them to the subterranean levels. At least if they decided to cause a scene down there, it wouldn't gather the attention of the whole base. **"It was probably just an oversight- I'm sure he has plenty on his mind right now."**

"**He has." **

"**See? Perfectly good reason." **

"**The reason is not good at all," **Mirage replied grimly.

Hound blinked. **"What do you mean?"**

The Master Spy bowed his head. **"There was an accident, it seems."**

Hound cast a quick glance around, noting that everything looked in order. **"Here? How come I haven't heard anything about it?"**

Mirage shook his head**. "Not here- with Prime and the others." **

Hound's optics flashed concernedly.** "Is everyone alright?" **

Mirage shrugged. "**We don't know all the details.**" They paused at the lift door, waiting for their ride to come up. They boarded, with Mirage pushing the down button. "Blaster hacked into a satellite to see if he could get some idea of everyone's position."

"_And?" _

"The twins are no longer with the main group."

Hound gasped, and then was able to croak, "Dead?"

"No, but possibly defected…"

"How can that be?"

Their free-falling lift was quick getting them to their level, though the landing was less than smooth. They were admitted into the cool gloom of their empty 'Cybertronians Only' cavern, dark and lonely as it had always been. The pair stepped out together, with Hound subtly indicating the direction he wanted to take.

Mirage fell into step, staring straight ahead with leaden optics. "Blaster picked them up on the Canadian coast with the Decepticons. They don't look to be there under duress."

"Oh," Hound breathed, unsure of what to think.

"We've always known they were unstable. Maybe this was one temptation too many for them?" The ice-blue mech shook his head. "Whatever the case, they might not be with us anymore. Soundwave is refusing contact with us at present, so there's no way of knowing…"

Hound frowned, optic ridges knitting together. "They're good mechs, Mirage. They probably have their reasons for being where they are-."

"The most prevalent being defection."

"Don't condemn them before you know what's happened," the scout countered, sharper than he meant. After a moment of letting the words hang, he sighed. "Everyone is so quick to pull the trigger around here."

"What do you mean?"

Hound pursed his mouthplates, pondering his answer, and then said, "I mean, well, we're always judging someone, aren't we? Everyone is always being compared to our ideals and no one ever measures up. First we condemn the Decepticons, then the humans, and now our own brothers?"

"They're not like us-."

"Don't give me that slag, Mirage. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have fought just as hard as any of us, and they've lost just as much. It's bad enough that we can't even get off our own damn pedestals to look a Decepticon in the optic, let alone look a human in the eye, now we have to go pointing blasters at our own mechs too?" His gaze raked over the profile of the ice-blue mech next to him. "If we can't trust our own faction, then who can we trust?"

"I don't know."

"See? That's sad."

And it was.

Mirage wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly chilled from the inside out.

After a long fashion, Hound finally gave into guilt. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have unloaded on you like that, especially with no warning."

"I'm pretty sure I deserved it," the Master Spy replied quietly. "You don't usually go off on bots without a good reason."

"It's been bottled up for a while. There are so many bots who need to be talked to; they don't even see what they're doing when it's right in front of them…"

Mirage reached out, taking Hound's large hand in his own and bring it to his faceplate. The feel of the metal was comforting, warm and familiar. "We'll figure it out, Hound. We'll figure out some way to have peace."

The scout shook his head, unlacing his hand from Mirage's grip to he could thread his arm around the mech's shoulders, tugging him close. "It's not peace that we should be looking for," he said quietly. "Peace at all costs, like what we've been fighting for, is pretty much another way to say bulldoze everyone who's not us, no matter how many it kills."

Mirage's arm snaked comfortably around Hound's back, his head leaning against the broad green armour of the scout's side. "Then what do you propose?"

Hound shrugged, sincerely thinking of the answer. After wandering comfortably in silence for a breem or two, he finally said, "Harmony."

"Harmony?" Mirage prompted, quite sure that his friend did not mean it in a musical context.

"I've been learning about it here on Earth," the scout chuckled. "We didn't have much of it on Cybertron since we were all pretty uniform anyways. On this planet, the people are a lot more varied- different languages, customs, behaviours, yet they find ways to get along with each other."

Mirage raised both his optic ridges incredulously.

Hound wrinkled his olfactory sensor. "Well… they get along as best they can with each other. They're not perfect."

"There's always someone at war on this planet," the Master Spy countered.

"There you go pointing a blaster at a people without knowing them," Hound chastised lightly. "Yes, humans have had terrible wars throughout their history, no one is denying that; with so much variance on Earth, you can't expect everyone to get along _all_ the time."

"There are so many wars, though, and they kill millions of their own."

"At least their wars end," Hound intoned solemnly, to which Mirage was sensible enough to bow his head. "They have yet to destroy their whole world- through war, at least." He gestured vaguely to the empty streets and buildings around them. "Us, on the other hand… we've only fought one war in all our history and have managed to destroy our planet and kill ninety-nine percent of our species with it. What's worse, we're still fighting even when we have no reason to. We do it because there is nothing else."

"True," Mirage admitted quietly.

Hound continued lamenting. "Everyone's different now. We've all changed. I don't think a single bot goes into recharge or comes online without thinking about what they are- Autobot, Decepticon… whatever. There's no Cybertronian anymore; no one is _together_ anymore, we're all individual killing machines."

"There is one mech who understands what it's all about, though," Mirage intoned softly, rubbing his head to Hound's side. "He's smart, but he might be on his own for a while before others catch on."

"Who?"

"You."

The scout looked surprised for a moment, and then his faceplate melted into a handsome smile. "Do I count?"

"You count."

"I'm always wishing I was something else, though." He looked down at his metal hand. "Something not… _me_."

"But you are you, and thank Primus for that," Mirage said. "If you weren't you, there'd probably be no one around here with any sense."

They finally happened upon the holodeck doors, its thrumming energy coursing through the packed-earth beneath their feet. Hound canted his head at the doors.

"It's active?"

"I was using it before you came," Mirage admitted. The doors groaned open, revealing a familiar world of metal and light. Hound recognized it as the initial program he had shown Chase months prior- the program that depicted his home on Mirage's estate. The Master Spy had adjusted the settings so that it was to their size instead of a human's. "I was feeling a little homesick."

"I hope I got all the details right."

Once again lord of his domain, Mirage glided to the end of the dais to lean over the intricate railing, peering out across the optical illusion that was supposedly the vast expanse of his estate, the sculptures, the fountains, the lights. He tipped his head back to see Cybertron through the crystal dome, watching it as one would watch an untouchable dream. His optics shuttered and he sighed. "I hardly remember it anymore."

"Like it was another life?"

A sad smirk crossed the ex-lord's faceplate. "Exactly like that." He turned around, heaving himself up to sit on the railing. With a long, slender hand, he beckoned Hound forward, which the scout did without hesitation. Though his chest was broad, his hips were narrow enough to comfortably fit between Mirage's open legs. It had been too long since they were this close, warmth suddenly blooming between them. Mirage reached up, curling his hand behind Hound's neck, bending the taller mech closer to him. "This place probably doesn't exist anymore."

Hound leaned the rest of the way, his forehead brushing to Mirage's. "The best we could hope for is rust."

"Earth is supposed to be our home now."

"Give it a chance; it's not so bad."

"The organics…"

"Aren't so bad, either. Like I've been saying- they're different, but that's okay. Give 'em a chance."

Mirage made a face as if giving the oily, skin-shedding, noisy little aliens a chance would probably kill him.

Hound laughed. "Don't be that way. I've been trying to tell you that organics are not so bad for _eons_."

"I never listened before."

"I noticed."

Mirage tilted his head back to stare at the glowing jewel of Cybertron above them, and then returned his gaze to his companion. He still looked slightly reluctant, but at least he was trying. "Now I'm listening. Show me." His free hand slid up Hound's front, tracing his interface panel. "Show me how you see the world."

The scout took that one long hand and placed it against his mouthplates. "Alright." Dropping Mirage's hand, he reached for the mech's panel and clicked it open, his own following suit simultaneously.

They were eager to be in each others' minds again, yet their movements were made in the reserved fashion of mechs reverent of the intimacy and comfortable to take their time, knowing what the end result would be regardless. As the connection synchronized, Mirage sighed, leaning forward to rest his weight against Hound. The scout supported him effortlessly, stroking the smooth armour of his friend's back while he did so. Hound's mind was a unique place to be, even for a brief while. It was all very open and friendly, embracing anyone who happened to wander in. There was inherent warmth coded into every stream of data. The Master Spy felt his insides thawing at Hound's gentle touch.

"You've been wound up for quite a while," the scout commented as he, in turn, took a stroll through Mirage's mind.

"I have had very little to vent my frustrations on," the ice-blue mech sighed.

"I'm here now."

Mirage drew Hound a breath closer, his legs enclosing tighter around the other mech's narrow hips. "Yes, you are." He sighed again, comforted and relieved.

"Smokescreen?"

"Is certainly not you." Smokescreen was a fine friend and brother to have, but to seek comfort from him was sometimes like seeking to pour acid on an acid burn; they were both too pessimistic for their own good. "Show me what you have been up to with the humans for this last little while."

"Of course." He said it as if he couldn't imagine holding anything back. Hound smiled handsomely, wrapping himself closer around his friend. He summoned his favourite memories, embellishing them with the warmth and contentedness that had followed him during his stay. A very satisfying noise rose from Mirage as he received the memories, the feelings. This was followed by a laugh.

"The shed, Hound? You stayed in their shed?" the ice-blue mech wondered mirthfully.

The scout laughed as well, nuzzling his forehead to the Master Spy's. "It was the only place I fit. I didn't mind it, honestly."

"Only you," Mirage murmured fondly, sinking farther into his friend's mind.

Soon, the image of what could be considered a handsome human male appeared in Mirage's mind; Hound's hologram. It was… awkward trying to reconcile himself with the fact that such a rounded, squishy brown thing could be his dearest friend, but the look in those dark holographic eyes- friendly, warm, welcoming- was all Mirage knew his friend embodied. Such kindness did not exist as uniquely untainted, boundless in its capacity, as it did in Hound.

The Master Spy was invited into several different memories, discovering a world where there was no Autobot Scout Hound, merely Hound. One moment, he was sitting in the shed with two humans females curled in sleeping bags in his truck bed. The humans were asleep, trusting Hound to watch over them through the night. There was then daylight, with both females being roused to the sweet serenade of Hound blaring his horn at them, which threw the humans into panicked fits of rage. The poor scout was then kicked and verbally abused until he stopped honking at them. He announced the time of morning to the horror of the humans, who realized they were late for both school and work. They were away in a flash, cursing as he laughed at them.

In the next memory, his alt mode sat in the middle of their driveway while the humans prowled around him with sponges, soaps, buckets, and hoses. Hound's hologram was with them. An innocent sponge was tossed. Soap suds flew. Hound had the younger one over his shoulder, running with her while she squealed. The elder female took the hose and sprayed them both, only to end up running into the house when Hound and Mikaela ganged up on her in retaliation. Next, all three of them were laughing in the middle of the Banes' living room, dripping wet, smothering each other with fluffy towels stolen from hotels.

A series of short images fluttered into being. Dropping the youngling off at school; she kissed the hologram's cheek and then patted his alt mode's hood. Sitting in the back lot of the garage Chase worked at while she barked at her coworkers; she sat with him during her lunch breaks, reluctantly talking to a holo-dog because Hound knew it annoyed her the most. Driving out to a private grove of trees and grass where no human was bound to see him, simply to transform and lay in the sun, completely alone and at peace. All three of them were in the shed together while they watched stupid Earth-movies on a fuzzy television that had a minor crack in the corner of the glass.

The last memory was of Hound's hologram confidently climbing into a bed that wasn't his, only to be set upon by flailing pillows until he dissipated. Two seconds later, he was back, hopping back into the bed that was now occupied by a female who looked determined to take up the entire space. Chase was tossed to one side as if made of foul-tempered feathers. Hound got a foot to his holo-thigh in retaliation. They engaged in a slap-fight that no one won or lost. Eventually, the human rolled over and went to sleep. Holo-Hound happily slipped into standby.

What Mirage became increasing aware of was the fact that his best friend was literally _living a second life_ amongst the humans. He wanted to be horrified. Terrified. Repulsed. Instead, he was curiously neutral. He couldn't summon up the strength to be anything else, really. He felt what could have been a sliver of jealousness, though it was cancelled out by a secret elation that Hound, of all deserving bots, could find a place were he felt at home.

"You're happy with them," Mirage commented quietly.

"It's strange," Hound replied, but said in a way that spoke how much he didn't mind the strangeness. "I have to use my hologram most of the time, but somehow I end up acting more like myself with them than I do here."

The admission broke Mirage's spark and put it back together in the same moment.

"You always were more comfortable with organics," he intoned, laying his faceplate into the crook of Hound's neck, revelling in the closeness he found there. Their spark resonances played off each other, tickling their insides and outsides.

"I didn't think it mattered," Hound murmured, curling his arms tighter so he could scoop his friend up. He slid them both to the floor to lay lengthwise, chest to chest. "It's the spark that matters, not the frame. And before you say they don't have sparks, they do, only they manifest differently." He'd been saying the same thing to Mirage for eons, only to have it fall on deaf audios. A glimmer in the ice-blue mech's optics whispered of the chance that he was not so deaf anymore.

"I don't want you to get hurt." Their continued connection ensured that Hound would know exactly what Mirage was talking about. "I love you very much, dearspark. I don't want you hurt."

"I love you, too," the green mech murmured sincerely. He caressed the side of Mirage's faceplate. "You have to stop looking out for me like you're still my lord-sponsor…" What went unsaid was _like we were still lovers…_ "Trust me a little bit. What friendship isn't worth a little risk, huh?"

Mirage dared a weak half-smile, tapering his thoughts so that they did not leak through their connection. Even if Hound wasn't aware of the full truth yet, it wasn't simply _friendship_ he was risking. Mirage knew the feeling all too well.

* * *

They arrived during the hour of day that was perhaps the most appropriate for a convoy of very confused and desolate Autobots.

It was during the strange hours that hung between afternoon and evening, when the sky and air and earth didn't seem able to quite decide what it wanted. The sun was deepening, beginning to sink, shadows long, but the sky had yet to begin its transformation into a rainbow of sun-kissed colours. The air was hot, but the breeze was cool. If you were human, you could _smell_ the evening coming as surely as you could smell dawn when it broke the horizon. If you were Cybertronian, you knew the exact ratio of dust-to-breathable air in the atmosphere, the humidity level, the temperature, the time in all time zones, and knew without a doubt that something was intensely off in these strange hours that were not quite afternoon or evening.

A small group amassed to welcome the Prime and others back while simultaneously welcoming who remained of the _Loki _crew to base. This welcome wagon consisted of all the Earth-bound Autobots collected so far, being Mirage, Hound, Smokescreen, Blaster, Bluestreak, Perceptor, Trailbreaker, Pathfinder, Dealer, Punch, Knockout, Tracks, and Windcharger, and scattered with a dash of well-meaning and/or curious humans.

In a procession reminiscent of a human funeral march, the approaching Autobots slowed to a halt, waited a moment on their wheels to take stock of all the bots and humans gathered for them, and then reluctantly rose to their feet. Their expressions were ashen and their optics wan. All except for Jazz, whose visor hid his lack of optics. However, the saboteur was well aware of the beings that had come out to see them, counting each individual by their spark or bio-signs. He knew all of the Autobots, but only remembered a few of the humans. He cast them all a smile that contrasted shockingly with the heavy atmosphere he'd driven in with.

"**Ah'm flattered ya all came out ta see little ol' meh," **he announced glibly, first in Cybertronian, and then he switched to English, "Miss meh much?"

He heard the jump of a few bots, as if surprised that he sounded so much like himself. Hopefully he lived up to whatever they were expecting. Even better was if he were better than what they were expecting; not much could top a resurrection, but if anyone could do it, Jazz could. He heard not a peep from the humans, which was rare when they were a species that liked to make so much _noise_. He could only guess they were ogling him like they were prone to doing in the presence of his kind, wet eyes wide, probably with a few of their mouths gaping slightly. The silence that hung was like a heavy wet blanket over the crowd, as uncomfortable as it was stifling.

"_Awkward," _one tiny blond human murmured. Though the intention was to be quiet, the silence that already existed ensured that his voice carried.

"_Shhhhhh,"_ hissed a female who Jazz was delighted to recognize as Mikaela Banes.

Metallic footsteps eased forward. Jazz immediately turned to the source, recognizing the spark resonance as the one and only Bluestreak.

"This is just… um, wow," the gunner stammered, at a loss for words. Jazz suddenly found himself captive in a glomming embrace. "I'm so glad you're back, Jazz. You have no idea how devastated I was to hear that you were gone! Well, everyone was devastated, really… It didn't even sound like the truth! You're the last mech anyone would ever think to go. But I knew it had to be the truth because Prime wouldn't lie about something like that- and, well, we saw your frame without a spark, so it kind of had to be true… Except, well, now you're back! I'm so glad you're back-." What was that about being at a loss for words?

Prowl laid a hand to the sniper's shoulder, guiding him away. "That's enough, Blue. Now's not the time."

"Sorry- I just got caught up in seeing him again." Blue leaned away, looking down into Jazz's dark visor. "Hey, wait, are your settings adjusted on your visor?"

Jazz stiffened.

The pressure of Prowl's hand increased on Blue's shoulder. "Another time, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak stepped away, flustered. "Oh, right, um… sorry. Another time…" His optics flickered to the other Autobots- Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet- whose stony faceplates were anything but welcoming. Wisely, the gunner let his gaze fall.

"What happened to the twins?" Knockout demanded impulsively. All heads cast down to the motorcycle, but he stood his ground. "Come on, it's not like it's a big secret. Why ain't they with you guys?"

Optimus' normally regal faceplate crumpled ever so slightly. "There was an accident."

Ironhide rumbled something. Not words, just a dark rumble that could have been described as the audio-embodiment of shame.

"_And?" _Knockout insisted, impatient as ever.

"And Prowl will debrief you on all matters that transpired," the Prime intoned firmly. "As it stands, I believe that some of us need to take some time to re-evaluate our priorities. It has been a hard journey, so if you will excuse us…?"

Following their gloomy, anticlimactic entry, the group went their separate ways under dark clouds. Ratchet made a beeline for his medical facilities, stepping over Doctor Spring even when she raised her hand to wave. Wheeljack scooped up his precious Tungsten and cradled the drone in the crook of his arm, fawning excessively as he trotted on the medic's heels. Bumblebee nodded to Sam and the others, transformed for them, and off they went to their own private place to talk, Arcee rolling behind them as a fierce black-and-magenta Ducati motorcycle. Ironhide and Chromia immediately turned for Ironhide's quarters, sparing no one a glance. Optimus was the last to depart, watching his fellow Autobots with a heavy gaze before offering Prowl a hand to his shoulder and then moving on out into the red dust of the desert to gather his thoughts.

Prowl's sagged as the weight of the remaining Autobots' and humans' attention came to rest on him. He evaluated them quickly, noting who was who. Finally, he asked, "Is there a place large enough around here for a debriefing?"

"Nebula II," Hound offered.

The tactician canted his head. "Would this be anything like Nebula One?"

"Sure, just about the same size, too. It's all underground," Hound added when he saw Prowl glance around for a building large enough.

Prowl nodded. "It should suffice then."

"**We're letting the humans down there, too?" **Dealer groaned in Cybertronian. **"Is there no place sacred for us anymore?" **He was shoved by Punch, and when he opened his mouthplates to object to the treatment, he was served a black glare so poisonous he wisely stayed silent.

"**It'll only be for a short while," **Mirage mediated. **"It… it shouldn't matter, anyways." **He looked as if he had to swallow something very thick in order to say that- his pride, perhaps? Hound, nonetheless, beamed at him.

"That settles it," the scout announced in English as he collapsed into his alt mode. His doors flung open and his tailgate fell back. "Humans who gotta be with us, hop on board!"

"Someone's chipper today," Epps commented as he jumped up into Hound's truck bed.

Amidst laughter genuine and awkward, the Autobots rolled their way down to Nebula II.

Jazz cast his head about as if he were surveying the layout of the base. Honestly, yes, he was scanning the area in order to memorize it, but it wasn't like he could take in the scenery any time soon. Not that he was about to let anyone else in on that little detail. He hoped Prime and the others would keep what they knew to themselves as well. He could get along just fine on his other senses. The less the others knew, the better.

Prowl lingered behind, waiting on the silver mech. **"Do you need me?"**

"**Sure Ah do, but Ah don't need ta hold your hand."** He flashed a handsome smile. 

**"Would you rather my arm?"**

**"Don't get cute with meh, Prowler. Ah don't need your help." **He waved a hand vaguely in the air. **"Ah drove here just fine, so Ah think Ah can manage walking." **

Prowl did not move, frowning lightly as he regarded his lover. Stubborn as always. "**I don't want you to trip on pride, Jazz." **

Another smile flashed across the saboteur's faceplate. "**The only thing Ah'm gonna fall head over heels for is you." **

"**Charming."**

"**Ah know."**


	47. Rise Above

**Bluebird Soaring**- Mirage is a hard one to pin down; even I don't know what he's angling for… I think the best we can hope for is that his feeling for Hound will allow him to see that simply letting Hound be happy in whatever way he wants is right. As for Hide- he gets his "pep talk" in this chapter; hopefully what's being said will stick. =)

**Queen of the Red Skittle**- You, my dear, have nailed one of the major themes of this story: this story (this series, really) is simply a compilation of individual stories. Every spark has a story, has own demons to fight. Without meaning to, they've all become their own islands. They're smartening up, though- they're coming together, slowly but surely. ^_^

**Cynthia**- Goodness, it's so nice to hear from you again! And I'm so happy that you're still enjoying the story! =D Showing how "messed up" the bots are because of war is exactly one of the points I wanted to make in this story~ I'm glad you like the portrayals. =) As for the twins; they'll be in the next chapter, promise~

**LAWL'Ofollower**- Thank you! =)

**DramaStar-Mel**- Funny thing about all of those tabloids Miles had… all the headlines were true! XD And thank you so much for appreciating my portrayal of Mirage- he's a hard mech to write because of all hi layers.

**FunkyFish1991**- Oh Fish, oh Fish, how I adore thee! *huggles you* You constantly amaze me with how much you pick up in the writing- things I didn't even notice while writing. When you pick up the things that I desperately want readers to pick up on, and then you comment on them, it makes me want to squee all over you! XD Hound and Mikaela, Mirage and Hound- oh hell, Hound and anyone in the room with him! XD I'm glad you liked the character interaction between ol' Hound and Mirage; it was such a pleasure to write. There is much more to do with them in the future! =P

**Balrog Roike**- Hahaha, isn't it great when the crazy-hippie-Wiccan boy who believes everything tabloids say turns out to be right? XD As for the condition of the Autobots' mental capacities at the moment… I think they could all use a little therapy. They're so fractured that even as they come together, they're still apart. Let's hope it doesn't take an even larger tragedy than what's happed so far for them to come together.

**Sebastian Nyte**- I think FunkyFish will be flattered that you've been reading her reviews =P She's a smart fish, that one. Knows what she's talking about when it comes to this story. So do you, it seems. I wish I could say more, but anything I hint at would ruin the story. =P

**Lecidre**- Hahahaha, I will see what I can do for more Jazz/Prowl love, my dear! They are such a wonderful pair to write for! =D And the book you just described sounds amazing! Everything about it is really stunning! It sounds just like something Miles (and myself) would love to read! XD

**Independent C**- Oh yes, Hound and Mirage have been many things to each other in the past. Though, you have to give Mirage a little credit- he really is trying. It's a good thing that he's trying to not be racist anymore. As for the bad guys, they're not forgotten. They're in the background, brewing up a storm to end all storms…

**Chloo**- Due to how long Cybertronians live, they have really complex friendships. Mirage and Hound are an example of that; they are so many things at the same time that it's hard to pin them into a single category. Just let them be and hope for the best. ^_^

**Lady Tecuma**- Hahahaha, I shall take your review as a compliment to my writing: I am just _that_ good. XD

Special thanks to **FunkyFish1991** for being my kickass editor for the first half of the chapter~ PS- Sorry I disappeared on MSN in the middle of a conversation- My router died and we had to go out and buy a new one. ;___;

Shout outs to **Fishy, Lecidre**, and **Violetlight**!

_Bumblebee's time on Earth- _In case anyone hasn't read the prequel comics to '07 movie, BB landed on Earth in 2003 as a, well, scout to, you know, scout around Earth…(_duhhhhhhhhh_) And if we're following the timeline within the story from the year that the movie came out in '07, we've only advanced to February/March of 2008 or far. If you're wondering ever wondering how music and technology that only came out recently appears in a two set two years in the past, it's because they're magical! 8D

_Miles' Quote- _If anyone is curious, yeah, Miles' totally ripped his quote from Harvey Dent in the _Dark Knight_. But who wouldn't? _Dark Knight_ kicked ass! The song he plays is 'Where is the Love?' by Black Eyed Peas.

**As We Come Together  
In Which We Must Rise Above **

Wheeljack sat back on the berth as he watched Ratchet vent his frustrations, pacing the crystal-lined cavern like a caged animal. It would be a while before the medic calmed enough to hold a civil conversation, so until then, the engineer contented himself with tugging his drone in circles by his vacuum-nozzle. To entertain himself, he fancied that the vacuum was happy to see him and had missed him while they were apart. Tungsten did not object to the treatment, rolling along wherever he was pulled in the mindless fashion that drones were wont to do.

A fist came down on a worktable nearby, the force of the blow rattling straight through the metal into the ground and up the cavern walls. Wheeljack jumped, his fins flashing. Ratchet growled, swung away, and paced the cavern once more, before returning to the spot to grasp the ledge of the table and lean over it as if he were in pain. The naked light bulb above him swung sadly, flashing across his bright armour.

"I don't know what I was thinking!" Ratchet suddenly exclaimed.

Wheeljack looked up, examined his friend's back, and then decided he wasn't being spoken to. He went back to pulling Tungsten in circles.

"I just stood there! I did nothing!"

"Meep meep!"

Wheeljack frowned down at the drone. "Shhh, Tungy, the big mechs are talking."

Ratchet spun around, suddenly remembering that he was not alone. Wheeljack was there, behind him, as he always had been in the past, looking gloriously sincere and awkward in such an ingrained way that it was probably more than programming that made him so. He sat on the berth where the Allspark used to sit, one leg bent under him, the other dangling off the side. The engineer's optics met Ratchet's and he canted his head.

"Go on," he said. "You need to get some things off yer chest."

Ratchet blinked, taking a moment to process whatever he was thinking, and then his expression crumbled into another look of guilt-ridden regret. _"What have I done?"_

Wheeljack stared back steadily, unflinching. He had to be the strong one now. "You made a mistake."

Ratchet shook his head, optics dim. "If only you'd been there, 'Jack. If you'd seen what happened…"

"Everyone makes mistakes."

"This wasn't a mistake, though!" Ratchet exclaimed, half-wild. "I was fully aware of what happened, I saw it with my own optics, but I couldn't move…" He wandered forward, standing next to Wheeljack without looking at him. He glared at the dull surface of the berth, contemplating his dirty, broken reflection. "It was as if I had forgotten I was a medic."

"Ratch'…" Wheeljack finally set Tungsten aside, letting the little drone go into standby. His full attention was on his friend, who, by the looks of things, required his full attention now. He took the mech's chartreuse hand. "Yer mortal before yer a medic."

Ratchet stared at the dark hand holding his, trimmed by cheerful white and green armour. He squeezed that familiar hand, though found no comfort in it like he had always found. "I should be a medic above all else; I'm supposed to _save_ lives."

"And I'm an engineer; I'm supposed ta build things. We've been doing things against our programming fer a real long time," Wheeljack reasoned. "I cracked a long time ago, so maybe now it's yer turn."

"What horrible timing I have for a personal crisis," the medic murmured, self-loathing evident in his words.

"I don't think you can time a personal crisis, Ratch'; they're sort of situational," the engineer sighed.

Ratchet snorted, heaving himself up to lean against the larger mech's comforting side. Wheeljack wasted no time in weaving his arm around Ratchet's shoulders.

"I've been through worse situations," the medic intoned bitterly. "I've seen Sunstreaker brought in looking worse than he did. I've pieced that fragger back together so many times I've lost count."

"What was different this time?"

Ratchet replayed the scene again for the thousandth time, seared as it was into the back of his head. He saw Virus charging, and then a flash of gold as Sunstreaker came out of nowhere to shove her out of the way; there was the roar of plasma, and then the two of them were sliding down gravel, their insides on their outsides, pieces of them scattered up a mountainside. Ratchet shuddered. It wasn't the scene itself that made him sick- Primus knew he had seen far worse, but the context of it…

"He tried to save her," he mumbled hoarsely. "Sunstreaker jumped in the way to try and save her. I couldn't understand how someone like him could do something like that."

"Why?" Wheeljack wondered, not because he didn't know, but because he knew Ratchet needed to say the answer out loud.

"Because… because all he's ever tried to do is kill. I didn't think he knew how to do anything else anymore." Ratchet shuttered his optics, shame compounding on his spark as he was forced to listen to his own words.

Wheeljack's knuckles brushed over Ratchet's cheek absently. "That's not true. He wasn't always a killer," he intoned quietly. "Remember that little youngling in Centaurie Tetrax? Kindest, sweetest spark you'd ever meet."

Ratchet's optics dimmed as he remembered that tiny, thoughtful, extremely self-conscious little youngling running around the Youth Sector.

"Sunny hasn't always been the way he is, even if it's easy to forget that," Wheeljack continued. "He's been through a lot in his life, him and Sideswipe; stuff they've seen and done… bots like us probably can't even guess at it. They've been fightin' an' killin' things a lot longer than the war has been around."

Ratchet nodded, attacked by even more guilt. "They were such kind little younglings, though… troublesome, but never outright cruel like some could be."

"If you know that, then how could you think all Sunstreaker can do is kill?"

Sickness rolled up from Ratchet's tanks, burning just beyond the barrier of his mouthplates. "Because…" He dragged in a deep drag of air to steady himself. "Do you remember the orn Kaon was bombed?"

That wasn't an orn many bots could forget; it was the orn that Megatron showed his true colours to the world, ruthless enough to murder hundreds of innocents to assassinate a few spies. He announced his official stance against his brother. Many bots cited the detonation of the first bomb as the very beginnings of the official war that was to tear apart their planet. For many, there weren't a lot of words to sum up their feelings on the orn. Wheeljack nodded solemnly for Ratchet.

"We weren't even Autobots yet, but we still were in Kaon to help with the clean up, looking for survivors," Ratchet intoned quietly. Meeting destruction like that for the first time- it was ingrained in his memory banks, burned in there. "We found the two of them curled up together under the rubble… it was a miracle they even survived."

"They got out just in time," Wheeljack murmured. "Wouldn't call 'em lucky per se, but they sure ain't _un_lucky."

"It was awhile before they came online again. After they found out what happened to their friends, to Sunstreaker's…"

"Lover?"

Ratchet snorted. The word didn't sit quite right with him, unable to reconcile the thought of Sunstreaker capable of taking anyone on like that, especially not someone like _Virus_. Instead of dwelling on the impossibility, he pressed on,

"After they found out… I've never seen anything like it. They were so angry-."

"I'd be angry too, you know? If everyone I loved just got the slag bombed out of them, I'd be pretty fragged off."

"It wasn't just that. You weren't with them like I was. There was such _hatred_ inside them; sometimes, I was afraid to look in their optics. When they were finally released and they ran off… you've only heard about what happened. I chased after them, I saw it- the tail end of it." He shuddered, sick on ancient memories. It was a secret he had carried for a very long time. "It was like they weren't even transformers anymore. They were ripping apart the Decepticons like they were nothing. Even the ones that _begged_ to be spared… With their bare hands- the things they did to those frames…"

"You don't have to spell it out for me," Wheeljack intoned, as much for his sake as it was for Ratchet's. Rumours were enough. If they were half as true as what actually happened, Wheeljack wanted nothing more than to live in ignorance.

"I guess I've always held that against them," murmured Ratchet, barely audible, his words thick and hoarse with shame. "A part of me _hated_ them."

Wheeljack was silent. Not even his vents cycled.

"I knew that every time they came to me after battle, they hadn't been out there to fight for a cause. They only went out there to kill. I knew that every time I pieced their sorry afts back together, they didn't really want to live anyways. I tried to make up for it, though- tried to hide it. I helped them, indulged them, repaired them, even _protected_ them, but a part of me still _hated_ them. I never wanted them to forget what they did… Primus, I wanted to punish them."

"Don't ya think they've been punished enough?"

"They have. Primus, they have. Everyone's been punishing them since the orn they joined. No matter how much good they did, no one ever let them be good for long. No one has ever given them a chance, including me." Ratchet suddenly lurched forward, his elbows on his knees with his faceplate buried in her palms. "When Sunstreaker took that plasma blast, I felt… I felt like he _deserved_ it."

"Ratch…"

"It's horrible, I know."

"You can't help what ya felt." Wheeljack peeled Ratchet's hands away, forcing his friend to look him in the optics. "What's done is done."

"_I know,"_ he replied miserably.

"Maybe it's time you stop holding the past against them."

Ratchet shook his head. "It's not that easy."

"Nothing worth doing is ever easy."

To this, the medic sighed and nodded. Wheeljack drew him into an embrace that he increasingly felt he needed. They took comfort in each others' spark resonance.

"Have you always been this wise?" the medic wondered quietly.

"Sure I have," Wheeljack chuckled indulgently. "But bots tend to mistake my great wisdom for insanity."

"An easy mistake with you," Ratchet murmured, smirking mutedly.

"I guess." With his arms still around his friend, Wheeljack bent his head to lay his chin upon Ratchet's shoulder, his mouthplates resting near the medic's audio. "Take my advice, will you? It's time to move on, Ratch'- that's all anyone is trying to do now. Whatever you saw that orn, you gotta let it go."

A grimace crossed his faceplate. "I don't know if I can."

"Sure ya can," Wheeljack assured, timed with a tight squeeze. "Yer a medic, ain't ya? Yer all about giving second chances."

* * *

Ironhide and Chromia arrived at the door of Ironhide's quarters in the same silence they had been steeped in for the past few days. The door swished open and the mech stood aside to allow his mate the first steps in, seeing as the room was now _theirs_. It was un-extraordinary in construction; a simple rectangular shape made up of dull metal walls, scuffed floor, and stark ceiling. The lights remained off, casting everything within into long, dark shadows. The femme noted familiar shapes- gun racks on the walls, a workbench along one wall strewn with parts to guns. A menacing figure took up a proud spot in the center of the workbench, coalescing into the finished magnesium-burn laser blaster Ironhide had been trying to pirate from the humans' design.

Pausing on the threshold of the room, Chromia surveyed her new quarters and approved of it with a solemn nod. She walked with a purpose to the berth that was directly opposite of the door and sat down on it, her gaze locking with her mate's.

"Are you going to come in or not?" she asked.

Ironhide grumbled a wordless noise, following Chromia's footsteps to the berth. The door shushed closed behind them. The weapons specialist didn't quite make it to sitting down next to his mate. Instead, he stood in front of her, watching her. With the lights still off and neither of their optics adjusted for the dark settings, all they saw of each other was their optics.

"Sit down, Ironhide," Chromia ordered tiredly.

Her mate complied mechanically, settling next to her stiffly.

"Are you going to talk to me or do I have to beat the words out of you?" she asked.

Ironhide snorted gruffly, looking away.

Not one to be ignored, especially from the mech she was just reunited with, Chromia grabbed one of Ironhide's cranial crests and dragged his head around so he'd look her in the optics.

"I'm serious, start talking," she said, which was more of an order than anything.

A large hand brushed away her grasp, and then Ironhide retreated farther down the berth. He blended seamlessly with the shadows of the room, and with his head turned away, he disappeared completely. There was even a half-sparked attempt to distance himself from Chromia bond-wise, but that was taking the issue too far and the femme would have none of it. With a decisive slap to the solemn barrier, Chromia did away with it. She then planted her presence firmly on the threshold between them so as to ensure that her mate didn't get any bright ideas about closing her off again.

"You have an awful habit of that," she said in minor chastisement. "Every time some emotional crisis comes up, you try to shut me out. I would have thought you would have learned by now that that isn't going to happen. I'm not going away. Get used to it."

A defeated sigh rose from her mate, and then he admitted, "I'm trying."

Chromia nodded, aware of the trials of being alone for so long. It took its toll on both of them, made them forget the essentials of having an external other half. Reliance on the other was essential. Trust was a big one, too. _Comfort _was needed most of all at the moment. She touched his arm, stroking the metal soothingly, gratified when he revved and leaned into her touch. It didn't take much coaxing to have him turn, laying across the berth with his head pillowed in her lap. Chromia's clawed fingertips were ghostlike as they traced her mate's faceplate, over his blunt olfactory sensor, broad forehead, reinforced chin; she stroked his proud crests and watched as his optics drooped closed.

"Your right optic," she began, touching the crushed ridges surrounding the optical unit.

Ironhide raised a hand, blunt fingers touching the damage as if to reaffirm it was there. "Another mistake," he grumbled. "There was a planet we thought the Allspark was on, but the _Nemesis_ got there first. I was going after Starscream and didn't realize Barricade's flail was on my other side."

"Why didn't Ratchet repair it?" the femme enquired.

"He repaired what he could, but we didn't have the right optical lens to replace this one," Ironhide sighed.

"That's unfortunate," she replied, continuing to trace her mate's old wound with muted interest. The scarring was old, some of it dull and smooth from being filed down. Her frame was new enough, with an excess of parts readily available enough, that she lacked such outward wounds.

"It's only superficial damage, and the lens is only a little cracked. It looks worse than it really is," Ironhide shrugged, taking in the focus of Chromia's faceplate as she memorized him anew. She wasn't made any more beautiful by it than her spark already made her, but the newness of it still interested him.

"You didn't bother to find a new one?"

Again, Ironhide shrugged heavily. "Figured something like this would serve as a reminder to never let my guard down."

Chromia frowned. "Has it worked?"

"A little too well," he rumbled grimly. "I shot our own mechs, didn't I?"

"Dearspark…" In a fluid move, Chromia bent her head so that her forehead could grace Ironhide's. Their closeness did not spark lust as it usually did. It sparked something else entirely, consisting of an age-old feeling of familiarity, embraced by a comfort that was warm and eternal. A soft sigh of warm air blew out her vents and breathed along his black armour.

"I love you, Ironhide. No matter what," she said. "You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do." He raised a hand again, this time to cup the back of Chromia's head, drawing her securely against him. "I love you, too. More than anything."

Chromia shuttered her optics, revelling in the warmth that came from hearing those words. A smile graced her mouthplates as she asked, "And you trust me?"

Ironhide did not hesitate with his reply: "With my spark."

"Pretty words, you closet-romantic," she teased. Sitting back, she drew from subspace her own double-barrel energy rifle. It was her sparkling, her precious, her equivalent of Ironhide's cannons, which was saying a lot. She always preferred separate weapon pieces to ones incorporated into the frame. Blades were more her speciality, but guns did their job just fine; in both cases, there was the thrill that they could be knocked away at any moment.

Ironhide stiffened for an instant, only to be quelled by a sharp look by Chromia.

"I'm not going to shoot you," she assured with wry amusement.

"I can never be too sure with a femme like you."

"Hush, you." She went about her business examining her rifle, which might have seemed like a hardly arousing one-bot activity, but Chromia and Ironhide had long since decided that the focus and attention given to ones' weapon, treating it with touches as soft as touching a spark, could be an experience all its own. Despite Ironhide's vaguely curious nudge to her spark, Chromia remained silent through her thorough examination of her most treasured weapon. She let Ironhide look his fill as well, seeing the weapon from all sides.

Once done with her external examination, she unlocked the stock from the barrel. First she disengaged the energon cartridges in each barrel, weighing them, noting their energy levels, and then set them aside to be recharged later. In a slow, decisive procession, her rifle came apart. Each part was lovingly treated, turned over several times in her nimble fingers, held up for inspection under the illumination of her brightened optics. The process was repeated until the gun was all in pieces, and Ironhide and Chromia sat in the epicentre of it all.

"You've maintained it well," Ironhide commented when he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"It reminded me of you," she said offhandedly. Taking care of it had meant keeping a little piece of Ironhide alive with her. It took less time for her to put it back together than it did to take it apart, and then it was set away in subspace. She looked pensive; her optics distant as she tried to formulate words to what she was trying to say.

Ironhide continued to wait on her, stoic and silent.

Chromia took one of Ironhide's arms, stroking the forearm along the metal seams. Under such innocuous armour laid the power to kill. She said nothing out loud, but requested that Ironhide transform his arm with the simplest of touches through their bond. He acquiesced without hesitation, though when he looked upon the silhouette of his own cannon shining under Chromia's glowing gaze, there was not pride in his optics as there usually was. There was a shade of something darker, almost disgust.

"What happened was an accident," said Chromia as she traced her fingers over the strong lines of her mate's cannon. "You were defending yourself. If you hadn't of shot when you did, you might have been the one on the ground."

Ironhide turned his head to the side, looking away into the dark recesses of his quarters.

Chromia shook her head. "What Sunstreaker did was… It was incredibly stupid. No one could have predicted him jumping in the way."

"It doesn't matter," the mech growled darkly. "I shot him anyways."

"True." Smart fingers curled into a crevice, searching for a lock. Ironhide stiffened as he felt the progress of the search, jerking a bit when he felt the locks release. "If you hadn't of gone in there with your guns blazing…"

"Like I always do?"

"Like you always do," the femme confirmed. "Then maybe this could have been prevented." The armoured shell of his cannon came away, and then the internal workings were broken down. The process worked in the same quiet rhythm and harmony that it had when Chromia inspected her rifle. Ironhide was merely an extension of herself. "You had been looking to kill one of the Decepticons, if not all of them, from the moment they landed."

"As had you," said the mech.

"Yes, I wanted their heads just as badly." Her barely-there smirk was tired and wry. "We can be horrible influences on each other."

"Terrible," admitted Ironhide, and Chromia couldn't tell if he was humouring her or being sincere.

"We've been sticking to our guns long before the start of the war," the femme intoned. She had a glowing energy cartridge in her hands. It was a compact spare that would enable Ironhide to keep on firing plasma shots without cannibalizing his own energy reserves if he fell in battle. She set it aside and continued on the process of stripping down her lover's prized weapon. "In hindsight, it feels as if we had been preparing for war all our lives."

"We weren't surprised when fighting began," Ironhide admitted. He set down his one arm and lifted the other for Chromia to begin its breakdown. He did not even stiffen as he first felt the locks release. There was a heavy wave of something akin of relief that flowed through him into Chromia.

"We never let our guard down even then. I think it's time we start." Chromia was silent for a moment, contemplating the warheads circling Ironhide's forearm, and then with careful deliberation she divested him of each. "We're nothing but a couple of war machines, 'Hide. We were good to protect Cybertron, good for the war, but now… Now we're at the end and we only make things worse. We're relics."

Ironhide shuttered his optics, rumbling. "There's not much else we can be," he said. "At the end of the orn, I don't have the option of setting my cannons down. They're a part of me."

"They're a part, yes, but they're not all that you are. It's funny that I'm the one saying this- I'm just as bad as you, but after everything I've been through caring for Arcee, keeping her alive, I suppose I've been able to re-evaluate a little." She chuckled a little, pausing to pet Ironhide. "Despite what they say, dearspark, we are not gun turrets on legs."

The last piece of his cannons was set aside, each piece rendered harmless. It was hard to believe the sum of their parts could create more destruction then even some nuclear weapons could ever hope to accomplish. He never once before wondered how many nameless bots he'd shot with his cannons, but now he wondered, and he wondered how many had actually deserved it.

Without a word, Chromia set her mate's arm down and began rearranging the pieces she had taken out of his weapons. She fit it all together like some ugly puzzle, which slowly built into a picture that was quite different from what the sum of the parts had used to be. Once she was done, she set her new little invention in the center of Ironhide's chest. He still turned away, refusing to look. It took an encouraging hand to his cranial crests to get him to turn, and a gentle insistence through their bond for him to open his optics. He adjusted his optics to get a better look at the funny little contraption that had been made from his cannons. It looked no more menacing than Tungsten as a vacuum.

With an inviting smile, Chromia pressed a hidden button and the little device turned on. A harmless blue light flooded their dark room, shooing away the gloom. It spun slowly and twinkled a broken, tinny tune.

Ironhide blinked curiously at the light for a moment, and then looked up in inquiry to his mate.

Chromia shrugged, contemplating the symbolic light. It was a larger, awkward model of one of Annabelle's toys. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that the sum of our parts don't always have to equal a gun. We can be something else if we want to be."

* * *

"That's- um… I don't know what to say," Sam sighed uneasily.

"There isn't much to say, really," Bumblebee replied miserably. In the aftermath of relating his and Arcee's tale of finally getting their revenge on Virus, he was left feeling sick.

Sam craned his neck up, trying to stare up at his giant friend from the awkward angle he sat at. He was so wholly dwarfed by Bumblebee. The scout, though smallish by his own species' standards, was absolutely _huge_ compared himself, Mikaela, and Miles. Months of knowing him had sort of made the size difference invisible unless he looked for it. It had been a long time since Sam had felt how huge the gap between himself and Bumblebee was, but tonight he was reminded that there was a lot he didn't know about his alien friend. He was also reminded of the fact that Bumblebee was soldier who had probably seen more war and killed more people than he could ever imagine. The truth didn't make him any more wary of Bumblebee, but it did make him acutely aware of how different the scout was to everything Sam had ever know before he had met the Autobot.

Bumblebee, in a similar train of thought, looked down to meet his friend's gaze and take in how very _small_ Sam was. He wasn't terribly, inconceivably small, seeing as there were plenty of microbots who ranged right around human height, but Sam was two things that microbots were not: fragile and young. Humans had fragility and youth in abundance. Even when they were old, they were still so young compared to any Cybertronian. Despite how similar Bumblebee wanted them to be, he would always be thousands of years older and made of harder materials. Someone like Sam would never have tasted war if it hadn't been for the Autobots and their war. Mikaela, Miles… they still didn't know what it was like, not entirely. But Sam… he knew was it was like to kill with his bare hands. That was one similarity he and the human had, though not the kind of connection one wished to base a friendship on. There had been an innocence in Sam's eyes when they had first met that was no longer there.

In fact, there was a new depth and tiredness to his friend's eyes that Bumblebee had failed to notice before. They looked to be incongruous with his face; handsome alien youth meeting glassy wet depths that now looked shaded, reserved, _ancient_. They were eyes better suited in the faceplate of someone who had lived eons beyond Sam's fractional lifespan.

Sam blinked, his eyes catching in Bumblebee's headlights. His eyes flashed blue under the night, a deeper, richer blue than Bumblebee had ever seen in a human eye. The colour was as unnatural to Sam's face as the new depth was. They were eyes that looked like they belonged to someone else.

"Sam," Bumblebee intoned quietly, reaching down to gently brush a very large finger against the side of Sam's very small face.

Sam leaned away, quirking an awkward smile and coughing a laugh as he was wont to do when a certain kind of concerned-attention was directed to him. "It's nothing, Bee," he assured, as he had been doing to everyone who wondered about the change. "They changed colour, is all. Never mind about it." Every brain scan, blood test, probe, prick, and poke a doctor could put a human patient through was exactly what Dr. Spring, Perceptor, and a host of optometrists and neurologists had done to him, turning up a very curious condition indeed: there was _nothing_ wrong with him. In fact, he healthier now than he ever had been in his life.

Bumblebee drew away with a meek nod.

Mikaela sighed, leaning her head against Sam's shoulder. Sam wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close.

After another long, chilled silence, Bumblebee spoke up again.

"Are you… afraid of us now?" He revved a little, uncomfortable, and then asked, "Are you afraid of me?"

"No, I'd never be afraid you," Sam replied automatically. "None of us would."

Mikaela agreed with him a split second later with a definitive nod. "You're a good person, Bumblebee."

Miles chewed on his thumbnail, not quite able to look up into anyone's eyes or optics. This shit was so not his kind of thing. He was used to the happy side of having robot alien buddies; messing around with Tungsten the drone, talking to Bluestreak on MSN, getting Blaster to download movies at lightning speeds. That was fun, and it was easy to forget that there was any difference at all between Earthlings and Cybertronians, aside from height and basic body composition. The Cybertronians were so good at disguise that they made it easy to forget they were all soldiers with guns big enough to level a city in minutes. It was hard reconciling himself to the heavy side of his new friends; real war, thousand-year-old grudges, killing people without thinking twice...

Bumblebee squirmed, glancing at the lanky blond human. "Miles?"

"Dude, _you_ don't scare me, but what you do- that scares the shit out of me," Miles said honestly, eyes wide.

The scout bowed his head, optics dimming.

"_Miles!"_ Mikaela snapped, embarrassed that he would say something like that to poor Bumblebee when the scout was already hurting.

"No, it's okay, Mikaela. It's his opinion," Bumblebee intoned. "To be honest, I'm a little scared of myself right now."

"It all happened so fast… we weren't thinking. We attacked Virus, and then Sunstreaker got shot… we didn't mean for it to happen," Arcee sighed, and then pleaded, "Please don't think any less of us." She may not have known the little humans, but they were Bumblebee's friends and he thought very highly of them. She had no doubt that to lose their respect would very likely crush him. She hoped they were as understanding as they were good listeners.

"We won't," Sam asserted, answering as the voice of his trio. "Didn't you say Virus was the one who hurt you in the first place? She probably deserved a little pay back, right?"

"I'm not so sure anymore." Arcee's optics dimmed as she thought of the Decepticon, her last memory of the quadruped being that moment on the mountainside where Virus lay more dead than alive on the ground while Trojan berated them.

Mikaela's nose wrinkled. "What do you mean? Virus and the others- they're Decepticons, aren't they? You guys kill Decepticons."

Bumblebee cringed. "We- we do, but…"

"She hurt both of you badly," Sam added.

"That was a long time ago," Arcee said unsurely.

"They shot down the _Uller_ in August, nearly killed Mirage and Smokescreen in the crash, and Hound ended up lost for a couple months," Mikaela continued. "Lost" was a relative word in this case, but it served the purpose of driving home the fact that the Decepticons were supposed to be the bad guys.

"Yes, but…" Bumblebee twittered, fumbling.

"She, uh- she did risk her life to transfer me into this new frame," Arcee intoned, looking at her hands.

"So one good deed undoes a thousand bad ones?" Sam snorted.

"Not exactly, but…" the femme shrugged unsurely.

Miles made a disgusted noise, leaning away from them. "Can you even hear yourselves right now?"

Bumblebee canted his head, optic ridges furrowing. "What do you mean?"

The human pursed his lips and shook his head. "Just listening to you guys talk- it's so… sad. Not _sad_-sad either, but like pathetic sad. A little disgusting, really."

"Miles!" Sam bark.

"Save it, Sam. Let me talk, would you?" Miles shot back, still frowning deeply. "If they don't like what they hear, they can always squish me." He jerked his chin towards Bumblebee and Arcee, who were startled by how sardonic the address was. It was so sharp it stung.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "What's gotten into you?"

"It's nothing… It's just- uh… _listen_ to me for once, okay? And take it seriously- not like with the tabloids thing. Take _me_ seriously. No one here looks like they're seeing the big picture- you're all way too involved, so someone needs to slap some sense into you," he said, fixing a hard stare on all four figures he was addressing. Sam looked surprised but settled back out of respect for his friend, while Mikaela's eyes shot wide as if it were just dawning on her how short-sighted and jaded they'd become. Bumblebee and Arcee wisely sagged in submission. Miles licked his lips nervously as he realized he had their undivided attention. It was now or never.

"You… you sound like you don't know what you're talking about anymore," he began, accusation and resentment rampant in his cracking voice. "Are the Decepticons your enemies or not? That one robot, Virus, she's the one who just _saved your freakin' life_, right?" he flapped a hand at Arcee, "And you're barely even grateful. Honestly, would you rather have killed her than live? Do you know how messed up that sounds to me?"

Arcee looked away, nodding meekly.

Miles did not stop to acknowledge the femme. "Like, I know I've never been involved in real war before, and everything I know about your war is almost zip, so I could be blowing things out my ass, but seriously- _seriously_- what are you fighting for anymore? You said your Allspark is gone, your planet is dead, and didn't someone mention there weren't many of you guys left? Maybe it's just me, but there doesn't seem to be a point to anything you guys are doing anymore."

"The Decepticons beyond Earth are still fighting for Megatron's cause," Arcee said lowly.

"Then tell them Megatron is dead. Tell them they're cause is dead! I don't care. If your people are as smart as you all make yourselves out to be, then it shouldn't be too hard to figure out that there's no point in dying for nothing." Miles shoved to his feet, his chin tipped into the air, feeling as indignant as he did when he protested with his family against animal testing and the US's position in Iraq. "Don't get me wrong- I totally understand you guys defending the little guys, but I don't think you're doing that much right now. The way you guys tell it, you don't see a Decepticon attacking someone and run to defend the innocent anymore. You see a Decepticon standing on a street corner waiting for the bus and you immediately start shooting."

Bumblebee sank even more into himself, looking as small as a 16-foot yellow robot could. "That- um, that sounds about right…"

"No, that sounds _wrong_," Miles exclaimed. "It's totally wrong to be doing shit like that! The Decepticons on Earth, they're not doing anything! I think I actually play X-box Live with one of them; as far as I know, that's not a crime!" He planted one hand on his hips while he pointed up at the robots accusingly. "You're the ones harassing them!"

"This is the way it's always been; Autobots fighting Decepticons. It's all I've ever known," Bumblebee intoned miserably, looking up with pleading optics. He wanted the humans to understand. "This isn't an excuse, but you have to understand… I was created in the middle of the war. I don't know who my Creators are, when I was created, or even what city-state I'm from. Everything was already destroyed when Optimus found me. I don't remember anything before that. Being raised in Iacon… I had no choice but to become an Autobot."

Miles took a step back, surprised, but then his face crumpled into anguish as he understood what the scout was saying. "You're a child soldier."

Taking a moment to look up the phrase, Bumblebee's optics dimmed with the truth. "I guess you could call me that."

Sam's brows knitted together, his small hand reaching out to touch anything of Bumblebee. "I never knew…"

"I never knew there was anything different until I came here." The scout twittered quietly, glancing to his side where Arcee leaned against him. She had been lucky, or unlucky depending on how you wanted to see things; the war had only just begun when she had been brought online. She had known brief peace, but had also lived to see all of Cybertron's cities fall. Bumblebee wrapped an arm around her and hugged her close. "The only peace I have ever known is here on Earth. Humans are the only aliens I have spent so much time around aside from my own kind; there's so much on your planet that's so different… I'm still not used to it. All I've ever known is fighting Decepticons…"

"It's hard to let go of something that's been ingrained into you," Arcee intoned.

"It's hard, but it's not impossible," Miles countered, but softly. "All you Autobots, you're on a fine line here, and I think especially you, Bumblebee. I don't know the others so well, but you're awesome to hang around with- you're smart and cool and kick ass, but if you can't tell the difference between defending people and being the judge, jury, and executioner to everyone not fighting exactly for your cause…" he raised his scrawny shoulders in an unsure shrug, "then that's just genocide."

"Yes, it is," whispered the scout, sounding on the verge of crying. Had he been human, here would have been tears falling down is cheeks.

"At least you admit to it," Miles said quietly. "They say that's the first step to recovery."

"What's the second step?" Bumblebee wondered, voice wavering.

"Um… I don't know." He looked around, hoping to pull the answer from somewhere. In the end, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He clicked through it to select a specific song. "You can start by listening to this song- it might help you figure some things out," Miles said, turning up the volume so that as the chorus of the song came, they could all listen.

"…_People killin', people dyin'  
Children hurt and you hear them cryin'  
Can you practice what you preach  
And would you turn the other cheek?_

_Father, Father, Father help us  
Send some guidance from above  
'Cause people got me, got me questionin'  
Where is the love?" _

The lyrics proved powerful.

"That is a very beautiful song," Arcee said quietly as the song ended.

"It's one of my favourites," Miles admitted. "Black Eyed Peas knew exactly what they were talking about when they wrote it."

"They're not the only ones who know what they're talking about," Bumblebee said, smiling down on the human. "Thank you for, uh… talking some sense into us."

"All of us," Sam said, looking sheepish.

"I will-,"

"We will," Arcee cut in.

Bumblebee nodded. "_We_ will try to change. We cannot carry on the way we have been. You are incredibly smart human, despite all impressions."

"Yeah, well, someone had to say something," Miles replied, scratching the back of his neck. "'You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.' It's not always as simple as that, but it's kind of applies here."

Mikaela canted her head. "Why does that sounds familiar?"

The blond coughed, his cheeks flushing pink. "Stole it from a Batman movie."

* * *

The early night was cold, clear, and perfect for contemplation, which was exactly what Optimus Prime had been doing for the better part of his time since he had arrived back in the desert. It seemed as if he always spent the majority of his time contemplating something. Most of his life had been spent contemplating something or other. It was practically a prerequisite for a Prime.

What Optimus was currently contemplating was _everything_. What was a mech supposed to do when he didn't know what to do anymore?

There was no immediate answer to the plaguing question, leaving the Prime to be eaten up inside by the disease instead.

He was not too far into his own thoughts that he missed the sound of an approaching engine. The sound was small and puttering, a weak frame bungling over uneven terrain and sputtering metallic protest with every turn. There lacked any spark resonance from the entity, so it was no Autobot coming to check up on him. It was that small detail that relaxed the Prime in a guilty, shameful kind of way he never wanted to admit to. He didn't want to see any of his own kind until he had a better grasp of what he was supposed to be feeling at the moment, what he was supposed to be thinking, doing… If anything, his Autobots surely should have been losing faith in him and he did not want to add to the atrophying of their confidence by exposing his weakness.

In no time at all, a small dune buggy pulled up near his side. Optimus did not need to cast a glance sideways to know that the poor contraption was dirt-ridden, its engine pitifully in need of a tune up. Optimus could not help but relate to the feeling. Yet the powerful Prime of Cybertron and the lowly Earth dune buggy differed in one vastly different way: while the ancient dune buggy was filthy and hard-worked, looking bedraggled and pathetic, it also radiated a the innocuous pride animate objects tended to exude when they have worked hard their entire existence and never once let anyone down. Optimus currently lacked such a quality.

The human that hopped off the driver's seat and dusted off his fine black suit was Reginald Simmons. He took his time flicking every last grain of sand from his regulation black suit, smoothing wrinkles, adjusting his cuffs. He looked as obnoxiously haughty as he did on any other given day. Where many humans would have seen it as obligatory, or at least _polite_, to greet the ruler of an alien world with a 'hello', a bow, or any other gesture of difference or respect, Simmons eschewed any such gesture. In fact, he gave off the distinct impression that he expected Optimus to be the one to initiation the conversation.

Never quite in the mood to deal with the annoyance this particular human embodied, and being less inclined now than ever, Optimus did not greet his new company. He did not even take his gaze off the stars.

Simmons continued to take his time sorting himself out. And once he was in a condition he felt was presentable enough, he reached back to the second seat of the dune buggy to a clipboard with several sheets of paper clipped to it. He skimmed through them quickly, as if taking note of the more grievous reasons for his trip so far out into the desert to meet privately with the Prime. He needn't look at the papers; he had long since memorized his list of complaints when he had decided to personally take them to the Prime.

"_Ahem,"_ the agent coughed, doing so quite pointedly.

Optimus did not even favour the human with a glance.

Simmons coughed again, staring up at the Prime with one eyebrow raised imperiously high. After a few seconds of continuing silence and disregard, the human made a disgruntled noise, shifted his clipboard into the crook of his arm in order to straighten his immaculate tie, and then said,

"I guess that answers that question."

Optimus sighed, finally deigning to acknowledge the agent. "And what question would that be, Agent Simmons?"

"The one I was planning to ask the moment I got your attention," said the human. "I was going to ask if you people had forgotten all about what I said about not attracting human attention, or if you've been ignoring me completely all this time. Obviously it's the latter."

Optimus could only blink as Simmons walked closer, brandishing his all-important clipboard with very official paper fluttering on it.

"See this?" he said, gesturing with his clipboard a little more emphatically. "This is a list of everything you and your little Auto-buddies have managed to expose yourselves with during your little trip to California. It goes through one to forty-seven, and none of them are pretty. I've also received several letters from military officials and world leaders expressing their _concerns_ over your continued use of their land as landing strips; they've seen the news, they've heard about the ridiculous lights in the sky, explosions, earthquakes, and let's not forget _roaring_ throughout the mountains that has California practically pissing itself over the chance that an Armageddon-earthquake is preparing to sink they're state. Now I've got people with lots of power and big guns breathing down my neck wondering if you guys are worth putting up with if you're going to end up pulling shit like that on their turf. Did you know I haven't slept in four days because I've been trying to sort out your mess??"

"I never considered that strain my people and I have been placing you under," Optimus intoned with a slight edge. He was awful to think it at the moment, but the strain of one human, Reginald Simmons in particular, did not guilt him as much as it normally would.

"Well, start considering it," Simmons snapped waspishly. "You won't be so damn footloose and fancy-free when I drop dead from the overtime and you have no one to cover up your tracks anymore."

Optimus was tempted to point out that he had many capable Autobots at his disposal to take the human's place, and even if an Autobot didn't step up, there were many humans with much better manners who could do the job just as well. Refraining from saying anything that would further incite the little human's ire, and therefore prolong his stay to rant, the Prime merely inclined his head in acknowledgment of Simmons' grievances.

A little disconcerted that he wasn't getting the reaction he was expecting, and a small part of him had been hoping for, Simmons straightened his back and tilted his nose a little higher.

"You better hope I can sweet talk every country whose nuclear weapons are currently pointed at you to put their missiles away before you find your little desert of solitude nothing more but a crater and a mushroom cloud. I won't even begin to point out how much of a pain in the ass trying to create a cover story for _that_ would be." He tossed a flippant hand in the air. "I don't even know why I'm bothering anymore, really. I don't think you're even listening to me now. Why don't you just get me to ring up every major television network in the country and get them to come out here so you can say hi to all your squishy neighbours and I don't have to give a crap about covering your ass anymore. That would make my life so much easier!"

"I do believe that is the first worth-while thing you have said during this whole exchange, Simmons," intoned Optimus wryly.

Simmons mentally stumbled to a halt and backtracked over what the Prime just said. "_What?_" He went bug-eyed, mouth gaping. "I was being sarcastic! You _want_ me to call the networks? Have you gone _insane_?"

"As you well know, Simmons, my kind's presence has been felt on this planet since the moment the Cube landed here. Megatron's presence alone was the driving force behind the majority of technological advancements introduced to your people in the last few decades. Perhaps if it was all laid out for everyone on our terms, rather than it being leaked piece by piece to the media with every mishap a Cybertronian may commit, Earth will accept us a little more readily."

"That's… that's, well- I don't know…" Simmons paced in a short circuit, looking a little more spastic than usual as he spun sharply on his heel, passing a quick hand through his slicked back hair. "Something like that- it's risky. Damn risky. I know humans, Optimus. I've been pulling the wool over their eyes for as long as I've known my family worked for a secret government agency. If you want to get up and tell it like it is for everyone, that's your choice, but the mass hysteria that could come of it… It'll be War of the Worlds radio broadcast all over again, except on a global scale… We would have to be prepared. Script the whole thing. Take a global census first to see if the world is really prepared for the truth..." He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes solemn as he stared up at the Prime. "It's just my opinion, but the world isn't ready for people like you."

Optimus sighed. "You may be right."

"Trust me on this, I am right," assured the agent. He wasn't being smug about it, it was just a fact. After a brief pause, he considered the flame-painted alien with a measuring stare. "What brought this on?"

"I do not know," Prime said. "I feel as if I should be doing something, but everything I have done so far has not turned out for the best…"

Simmons looked surprised. Whether he was surprised that the great Optimus Prime had confided in him when he was pretty sure the big guy hated his guts or surprised that someone like Optimus could have anything turn out shitty on him, he gave no hint. Glancing to each side as if searching for anyone else in the vicinity, he then looked up at the Prime with a strangely concerned/uncomfortable expression.

"You- uh… want to talk about it?"

It was Optimus' turn to be surprised, though he kept his features schooled to reveal nothing. "If you had been at the debriefing, you should know all about my current problems."

A bitter smirk twisted the agent's mouth up subtly. "I'm not exactly welcome to those sorts of things anymore," he said. First because those Army grunts Lennox and Epps acted like a pair of teenaged girls butting him out of everything important, and then because the Fairbornes' had assumed command of all ex-Sector Seven agents and were the ones to attend debriefings now.

"I see," the Autobot intoned, feeling sorry for the first time for the alien. To go through life with so much power, only to end up with none; that was something Optimus could relate to quite well. He gestured for the agent to take a seat back in the dune buggy. "If you would be willing to listen, I could inform you. I would not be adverse to some council at the moment."

The human stood for a moment longer than he had to, simply trying to gauge Optimus for any sign of a trick. When he finally decided that he wasn't about to be made the butt of a joke, he turned for the buggy and sat.

"Lay it on me, big guy. I'm all ears."

With a nod, Optimus recounted the events of the last couple of weeks. The verbal picture he painted was not a light one, and listening to his failing be listed off in his own voice made them feel even more real than they had before. Simmons, for once, was silent during the retelling, his face carefully schooled, features completely neutral. He nodded and hummed in all the right places to assure Prime he was listening raptly. As it turned out, Simmons was as good at listening as he was at talking.

When Optimus came to the end of his recounting, the agent crossed his arms, leaned back in his creaky, faded seat and remained silent for nearly a minute. When he felt like he had his thoughts in order and possessed a good enough understanding of the situation, he looked up to meet the Prime's steady gaze and announced,

"It sounds like you've hit rock bottom."

"What an apt observation," Optimus replied, deadpan.

"It needed to be said," Simmons said with a shrug.

"Have you anything useful to recommend?"

"Well, I want to point out that it's kind of good that you've finally hit the bottom, since you people are always acting so high and mighty. Everyone needs to get kicked off their pedestal every once in a while."

"Such as yourself?" Optimus suggested, if not a little more meanly then he meant.

Simmons actually laughed, though it was more of a bark of noise than anything. "What? Being demoted? This isn't rock bottom, big guy, just a set back." His eyes turned haunted while his mouth remained bitterly twisted in a smirk. "No, I hit rock bottom years ago."

"May I enquire…?"

"Might as well. It's not like it matters anymore." The hauntedness of the human's eyes deepened as he drew on memory. "See, Sector Seven used to deal with some pretty intense stuff back in the day. Some of it would be enough to give anyone nightmares, and sometimes you just get to a point where you crack. Agents go rogue. Usually it's just a trick of getting the medication right and letting the therapist be the right kind of ear to get some guys under control, but others… they go off the deep end. When that happens, they have to be put down for the safety of the public and S7." He laced his fingers together, setting his elbows on his knees to hunch over his hands. "Twenty years back, I was part of the team that hunted down rogues. I had been going strong for about six months, managed to put down two rogues before they unloaded a couple of semiautomatics into a crowded shopping mall, and then I got the call saying that my brother went AWOL."

"And you were forced to respond," Optimus intoned gravely.

"It was my job," Simmons confirmed. "My whole family is Sector Seven, goes back generations; we're all taught the risks from the moment we're all old enough to keep a secret. My team and I tracked my brother down to some small village in Bolivia. He tried to fight his way out and ended up killing a couple little kids in the crossfire. It got pretty bad. I managed to get him cornered, get him away from the people- he was so far gone. Cracked right to the core, couldn't think straight anymore." He paused, thinking of the day, and then he said, "All I could do was tell him I was sorry, and then I shot him in head." A tired hand scrubbed across his face, like he was trying to slough off the memory.

Optimus could only stare, stunned.

"That was my rock bottom," Simmons finally said.

"I am sorry for your loss," Prime murmured when all other words failed him.

"It had to be done. If it wasn't me, someone else would have done it." The words were little comfort to the human, though it was obvious he had been telling himself the same thing for the better part of twenty years. "But I wasn't telling that story for a pity part- it just goes to show that we all hit rock bottom some time. Some hit it harder than others."

Optimus nodded.

"The thing about being at the bottom is that you can either stay there, or you can rise above it." Dark eyes flicked up to meet solemn optics. "Your choice."


	48. He Awakens

My sincerest thanks and gratitude to all of my reviewers~ Without your kindness and love flowing, I doubt I would have been able to carry on as strongly as I have. This story certainly would not be the same without you! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for all the time, effort, kindness, and love you've all shown to this one lowly writer. Cosmic love and hugs to you all~ ^_^

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- I'm glad you enjoyed the depth to Simmons' character. I'm completely with you in thinking that he has a lot to say. He's like a spiffed-up version of the Men in Black; you _know_ he's seen things in his life. Sadly, he's such a snarky little twit to everyone that he rarely ever gets to have his proper say in things. ^^;

**Dramastar-Mel**- Miles is one of those special characters who can surprise you when you least expect it- I love to write for him because he is that crazy, but uncommonly wise. Reminds me of Wheeljack, actually~ =P They both showed their true colours to their friends in the chapter. ^_^ Simmons may be a jerk most of the time, but he's a hardcore jerk. =P

**Lady Tecuma**- Thanks so much, Tecuma! That really means a lot~ *hugs* You're more than welcome to hug whomever you want in the chapter. I'm pretty sure everyone could use some snuggles.

**Balrog Roike**- My hopes are currently similar to yours, my friend. I do hope that the Autobots have finally woken up to the true nature of what they've been doing, and in light of that, they'll start to rise above it. It's sad that wake-up calls for so many people always center around a tragedy. . As for your concern of the Twins- there is concern for them on the Autobots' part, as you'll see briefly in the chapter, but you'll also see that there is a reluctance on their part to accept it. It's something they all have to come to terms with and sort out.

**Lecidre**- Oh my god! I never even thought of that line from _Batman Begins_! That is such an awesome connection! (Plus, Batman is one of my favourite heroes, so that makes it even better! 8D ) There's a time for everyone to shine, and last chapter was a time for the underdogs to really show their wisdom. No one ever really gives much thought to Wheeljack, Miles, or Simmons as important or wise, but given the chance, they can surprise people. Simmons especially, it seems. =P After everything they've all been through and all the insights brought to light in the chapter, everyone will begin the journey to righting their wrongs and bringing them all back together. =)

**Independent C**- I'll take your incredulity of Simmons as a compliment~ ^_^ I can't say it was a lot of fun giving depth to his character, but I figured it was about time to give him a reason for being a jerk all this time. He's a secret agent after all, so he's bound to have some sort of shady/tragic past. =( The thing Chromia created from Ironhide's cannons was nothing more than a little light as a symbol of the fact that sum of his parts didn't always have to mean death. ^_^ As for Miles' dig in all this, he really is the outsider looking in. I'm glad you liked him telling off the transformers. =) Even though this story is almost done, his part in the series isn't over; he'll be back if there's a sequel. =)

**FunkyFish1991**- Okay, before I say anything else about your wonderful reviews, Chromia made a flashlight. _A flashlight_. *whew* Okay, I got that out. I feel better. XD And might I say, after your wonderful rant on Ironhide from the chapter where he shot Sunny, I'm quite happy to see you have taken to some sympathy with him. Poor mech was due for some, you know? Ratchet too~ Poor things, now blaming themselves for everything. I squeed when you connected the complexity of Ratchet & Wheeljack's relationship to that of Mirage & Hound's. Yet again it's a detail I never saw while writing, but now that I know it's there, I think you're more amazing for seeing it! XD And don't you worry about everyone finally getting second chances! I am working on it right this minute! =D

**Flameshield**- It's so good to hear from you again! I was worried that something in the writing had turned you off. But wow, you're actually that invested in the writing? My goodness, that's a humbling thought. I hope you continue to enjoy the rest of the story, for however few chapters are left. =)

**Chloo- **My dear, this chapter is so totally dedicated to you! Thanks so much for the congrats on the two-year anniversary~ *hugs* Without you, I wouldn't have even noticed! XD Your review is too wonderful as well~ As always, your enthusiasm for all the little details and curveballs I throw into the series is part of the reason I continue writing! =P Simmons' part was definitely the _pièce de résistance_ of the chapter. He may be an ass, but he's a wiseass… wait, that didn't come out right… Oh well, you know what I mean. XD

_Song lyrics- _I don't own Poets of the Fall's _Carnival of Rust_ or Billy Talent's _Rusted from the Rain_. They're awesome songs that you should listen to, though. ^_^

_Events of the Chapter- _As an aside to the events of this chapter, some keen readers of WE may want to check out the expansion fic _Even Angels Fall_. It may or may not enrich your reading experience. ^_^

_Cosmic Rust- _Oh yes, I went there. G1 all the way! XD

**As We Come Together  
In Which He Awakens **

Sideswipe had to marvel at how he and Sunstreaker seemed to end up in the least expected of places. First they had left their family for Kaon, fighting for all the wrong reasons. From Kaon, they had fallen in line with the Autobots, still fighting for the wrong reasons. And then there was Earth, the last planet any self-respecting Cybertronian would show their faceplates on, yet somehow it was now their home. And now they were _here_…

The Decepticon-Neutrals called it Carnéval.

Sideswipe liked to call it 'Nice Place' out loud, but often referred to it as 'Sweet Primus, Please Don't Let Me Fall Through the Rusty Floors' in his head. Not that he wasn't grateful for their hospitality. He _was_ grateful. Terribly so. But being grateful did nothing to lessen how awkward it was to say 'thanks for fixing up Sunstreaker and letting us stay here while my insane idiot brother and your crazy four-legged junk heap get their heads on straight. Oh, hey, wait, didn't I try to kill you the last time we saw each other?' That sort of thing always tended to remain awkward.

Thankfully, the Decepticon-Neutrals were rather used to awkward moments after all their time together. Worm and Trojan were entirely welcoming in their own ways, which were as generous as they were silent, though they mostly stayed by Virus's side. Soundwave, his symbiotes, and Nightshade merely acknowledged the Autobots' presence whenever they crossed paths, but for the most part continued living life as if the twins weren't there. It was Flamewar and Barricade who made the experience livable. Both of them were past acquaintances from different venues before the war, and while it was still strange to not be trying to kill each other, at least their familiarity made it easier to think _friend_ before _enemy_. After the laughing fit the twins (mostly Sideswipe) had come under after finding out the two 'Cons were recently bonded, and the swift beating they were dealt (courtesy of Flamewar), the quartet were quite content to be in each others' company.

The base itself, Carnéval, was not what one would expect from such a collection of powerful ex-Decepticons. Upon first seeing the base as it lauded over its cliffside domain, Sideswipe had briefly wondered if they had the right address. Once the initial shock (and mild amused-horror) wore off, the base was actually a pretty fine place to be. The epicentre of it was the _Darksyde_, looking less like a junk heap and more like vaguely-shaped ship made of junk now that Soundwave had been working on it on-and-off for the last couple of months. Spreading out in all directions from the epicentre were the concentrated efforts of everyone attempting to make a home. The vague idea of a base was slowly taking shape, although you had to squint to see the base through the rust.

Unlike the Autobots, who had had the fortune of the UN's help in procuring resources from the governments of the world, the Decepticon-Neutrals had had to get _creative _when it came to building materials_._ Whereas their well-sponsored counterparts had brand-new supplies straight from the manufacturers, the essentials of the coastline base were mostly recycled (and rust-ridden) elements. The majority of it consisted of gutted industrial fishing boats they had collectively managed to steal from dry-dock and haul all the way out to their remote cliff. Since most of their chosen boats were old and retired, the stir they caused with the theft was minimal; the humans of the coastal towns would merely glance to one another with wry smiles and laugh amongst themselves when someone suggested aliens took the boats. One of the most impressive additions to the base was an abandoned luxury yacht Laserbeak had found frozen in the ice off the coast of Greenland. With the combined seismic efforts of Rumble and Frenzy, the ship had been released from its icy trap and the Decepticon-Neutrals claimed it for their own uses. It now sat proudly as the base of their cliff, entrenched in a spider's web of scaffolding, pulleys, and flights of hazardous stairs that connected it to the rest of the base.

The Decepticons had wasted _nothing_ in constructing their base; they had to be the first Cybertronians in the history of their planet to use _wood_ as a constructive material. Any and all trees that had been ripped out to make room for their growing collection of rusty boats were reused in as many ways as possible, from walkways to scaffolding to supports from which to hang their extensive collection of colourful outdoor lights (stolen from houses during the festive winter holidays). Above it all was an assortment of handmade solar panels and huge windmills turning in the gale winds coming off the Atlantic, powering their hodgepodge base.

The look was so eclectic, so _eccentric_, that the symbiotes often liked to blast music befitting the theme of their base over the _Darksyde_'s speakers. On the music list were songs such as 'Rusted from the Rain', 'Rust in Peace', 'Kingdom of Rust', 'Diamonds and Rust', 'Rust Never Sleeps', and lastly 'Carnival of Rust.'

Carnéval's name had been inspired from the last song.

Its lyrics were currently haunting the icy pre-dawn atmosphere-

"_Come feed the rain_  
'_Cause I'm thirsty for your love dancing underneath the skies of lust  
Yeah, feed the rain_  
'_Cause without your love my life ain't nothing but this carnival of rust…" _

Sideswipe tried not to pay the lyrics much mind. If he found himself drifting into the music, he only managed to creep himself out. It was a damn creepy song and he couldn't help but think whatever human came up with it was a little rattled in their tiny, squishy brain.

For a distraction, he searched for his brother's lonesome form. It wasn't hard to spot him, being the brightest coloured and saddest looking figure in the immediate area. His once-golden armour was now a patchwork, his arms flashing vivid red with donated armour, his repaired foot dull grey with poorly kept temp plating. He was black in patches along his chest from Worm's bent armour. The brown of mud and road-slush spattered his legs. He looked abused and rundown. In place of his usual glacial aloofness was a sense of withdrawn mourning.

"Sunny?" Sideswipe called softly.

At the sound of his designation, Sunstreaker paused in his appraisal of a leafless willow tree to glance over at his brother.

"How're you feeling today?" the red twin asked, offering a weak smile.

"Better than yesterday," he replied with a shrug.

"But not as good as tomorrow?"

"That's the general plan."

Sideswipe nodded. "That's a good plan."

"Better than nothing."

An unspoken invitation rose from Sideswipe, beckoning Sunstreaker to sit with him. Sunstreaker, in turn, accepted in the same unspoken way. He wandered out onto the rickety platform his brother currently sat precariously on. The platform itself was an unstable entity that jutted from the cliff's edge in a way that made anyone a little uncomfortable to look at it. It was supported by a mishmash of crossbeams and haphazard scaffolding that creaked and groaned as hard winds swept in off the water. The whole concoction of wood and metal plunged straight down a couple hundred feet to the cruise liner below.

Once their precarious perch settled with a resigned groan, accepting its new burden, the twins sighed simultaneously. Firstly, they were relieved to be in each others' company, which was quickly reconstituting itself as a very important staple in their everyday lives, and secondly- they sighed in relief to not be plunging to their… well, not their _deaths_, really- more like a very cold ice bath. Given the current mood, an ice bath would probably only make it worse.

Sunstreaker cautiously leaned to the side and peered down to the gutted ship below, which was roughly the size of the _Loki_. Looking his fill, he straightened up and looked at his brother. "Your jetpack is working, right?"

"Yep."

"Good."

They sat quietly long enough for Sideswipe to remember that he didn't like being quiet very much. Plus, Sunstreaker felt odd through their bond. Odder than usual. But he didn't want to come right out and say it to his brother's faceplate. Someone had already pointed out that Sunstreaker was odd, which he had taken as a slight against his current appearance, and the end result had been Rumble learning to fly as he was thrown over the side of the cliff. While Sideswipe was safe in the knowledge that Sunstreaker couldn't throw him without a fight, and he had a jetpack to save his aft anyways, he really did wish to avoid the whole scenario if possible. With that in mind, he cast a glance to the side as he twiddled his thumbs in his lap.

"So… how's, uh- Moonfly?"

Sunstreaker grimaced, hunching forward. A frown drew his mouthplates down. "She won't talk to me."

Sideswipe flinched. "Still?"

His brother nodded. "She'll talk _at_ me, but not _with_ me."

"What does she say?"

"Keeps telling me I'm not real," Sunstreaker snorted, tossing his hands in the air. "What's that supposed to mean, anyways? '_I'm not real.' _I'm standing right in front of her. My spark resonance is exactly the same as it was back then. How much more real can you get?"

"She was always a little strange," Sideswipe reasoned.

The golden mech cast him a sharp look. "Strange, yes, but she's never been _stupid_."

The red twin shrugged, at a loss for an answer.

Sunstreaker was not comforted by the silence. He was feeling so many things at once, he wondered how so many bots did it on a regular basis and didn't go crazy. How the pit had he managed himself when he was young? Part of him was still on ice, still numb, while the part of him that was trying to be good again suffered from a chronic ache covering most of his body and a good portion of his conscience. He was also plagued by nausea from eons worth of unfelt guilt coming back to bite him in the aft, and the constant feeling of being two sparkbeats away from exploding. And explode he did, at least verbally.

"I don't know what to think!"

Sideswipe blinked, jerking straight. After a moment of thinking over the sudden exclamation, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean-!" He curled forward like he was in pain, smothering his faceplate in his palms. "I mean… what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say to her? That I _should_ have been looking for her? Tried harder? I thought she was _dead_ all this time!"

"To be fair, I'm pretty sure she thought we were dead too."

"Mute it," Sunstreaker growled.

"It's true," Sideswipe asserted with a sniff. When Sunstreaker continued to sulk into the palms of his hands, he cautiously reached out to snake his arm around his brother's shoulders. "I don't think there's any handbook out there that'll tell you how to handle something like this."

"I don't need a handbook," Sunstreaker sighed. "A pamphlet would be nice. I'll take writing in the sky if I can."

Sideswipe glanced back and up, spying Nightshade, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, and Ratbat collectively de-icing the windmills. "I could arrange a sky-message if you really want one…" He got a shove for his thoughtfulness.

"I want… I don't know what I want. Closure, maybe… I want to at least talk to her, but she keeps ignoring me." Sunstreaker scrubbed his faceplate in frustration. "All I want is to sit in the same room as her without her trying to bite me! Is that too much to ask?"

"Right now? Yeah, maybe… She'll come around eventually," Sideswipe said, though he sounded unsure, a little uncomfortable. "Um… have a little patience, alright? And, uh- get to know her again. You can't just pick up where you left off. That's asking too much."

"You don't think I know that?" Sunstreaker snapped, and then shook his head. "Sorry, I shouldn't be snapping at you…"

"It's okay, bro. I can handle it," Sideswipe assured, squeezing the shoulders his arm was wrapped around.

Sunstreaker leaned a little more heavily against his brother, taking comfort in their shared intimacy. "Part of it is… I know I don't love her anymore. I love the memory of her, sure, but when I look at her now… _nothing_. I feel _sorry_ for her."

"You did your time mourning, and so did I. It's healthy that we moved on. I'm proud of you, bro." He leaned his head over to brush it against Sunstreaker's affectionately. "If you want to help Moonfly move on, that's great. She needs all the help she can get."

Sunstreaker glared out at the grey ocean. "I don't know what I want to do."

"Give it time," Sideswipe insisted, not that he held out any great hopes for a magical reconciliation. Honestly, he was under the impression that something was going on between Sunny and Prowl, despite Jazz's comeback.

"If someone doesn't end up killing the other first," Sunstreaker murmured dourly.

The red Lamborghini smirked. "You tried to do that already, remember? Didn't work out too well for either of you."

The golden mech pouted. "She started it."

"And Ironhide finished it."

"The fragger." Sunstreaker grimaced, one patchwork hand rising to his reconstructed chest.

"You're the idiot who decided to play hero at the wrong time," Sideswipe countered. "You're lucky you survived a blast like that at point blank range. _Damn lucky_. If you had died, I would have gone too. You know it's not pretty when you lose the one you're bonded to."

Sunny's ice-coloured optics dimmed for a moment. "Yeah…" He knew too many sparkbonded pairs who had suffered the fate of losing one half and the other fading away. It was a fate that he and Sideswipe feared above all others.

Sideswipe pursed his mouthplates, looking for something lighter to say. He finally said, "Prime and the others have been hailing this place non-stop trying to talk to us."

"I know," Sunstreaker replied flatly.

"No one is talking to them, though," Sideswipe continued. "Pit, I think the hails are even being blocked."

"Serves them right."

"Sure it does," Sideswipe smiled, strangely cheerful. "Unfortunately, we can't hide here forever- not our style. We'll have to go back sometime, kick some aft, remind everyone who's boss."

"Not any time soon," Sunstreaker replied.

Sideswipe paused, and then shrugged. "Alright, not anytime soon, but when we do, we're gonna kick some aft."

"Whatever you say." Although Sunstreaker's faceplate didn't stop frowning, Sideswipe knew he was smirking on the inside.

Below them came the telltale creaking-cracking of several tons worth of metal making its way up the crooked steps from the yacht below. A quick glance over the platform revealed Flamewar and Barricade coming up, both looking refreshed from their brief stint of recharge. They didn't look the least bit concerned as they traipsed their way up, even as planks of wood bowed beneath their feet. Their combined weight tilted the whole structure, sliding Sideswipe and Sunstreaker forward on their platform. Instinctually, the brothers reached for each other and hoped they weren't about to learn how to swim.

Barricade was the first to make it to the top, nodding his greeting to the twins. He waited for his mate to join him, offering his hand to guide her up the last couple of groaning steps, and together they waltzed over to join the Autobots on the rickety platform. Collectively, the four of them were nearly seven tons worth of metal, but still the platform held up, albeit in a quivering, pitiful sort of way. The bonded pair showed no more concern for this detail than they did the stairs.

"How was recharge?" Sideswipe asked, smiling for his hosts-cum-friends.

"Pleasant," Barricade replied blandly.

"Not that we were recharging much," Flamewar laughed. Barricade smirked, tracing the newest of the proud paint gouges marring his front.

Sideswipe snorted, leaning back comfortably. "I don't know how everyone around here puts up with you."

"They conveniently turn off their audios," Barricade said.

"It still gets me that you're bonded," Sunstreaker intoned, leaning forward to address Flamewar. "You are the last bot on Cybertron I ever thought would sparkbond, especially to him." He jerked his chin toward Barricade. "He's an ex-Guardian to a Youth Sector, and _you_- you're just like me-," _monster _"-an ex-gladiator with more issues than you can count."

"I don't hold that against her," Barricade chuckled. "I like her issues. I wouldn't change them for the world." He turned to gaze at his mate, who tilted her head, raised an optic ridge, and smirked most contentedly.

It was such a lovely scene that Sideswipe ended up laughing again and Sunstreaker looked away. Barricade was the same mech who used to threaten to throw little sparklings onto shelves too high for them to get off when they were bad. And Flamewar- she was a femme who used to tear mechs four times her size to pieces and not even bat an optic. And yet…

"So long as you two are happy, I guess it shouldn't matter," shrugged the golden twin.

"Very happy," Barricade confirmed. He looked Sunstreaker up and down, noting the distinct lack of improvement in the mech's appearance, and wisely decided not to comment on his looks. Instead, he asked, "Has Virus come out of her lair yet?"

Sunstreaker instantly scowled. "No."

"I see…"

Flamewar snorted harshly. "This is getting ridiculous. Stop tiptoeing around her like she's made of glass. Beat her until it finally sinks in that everything she's lived since Kaon has been a lie. She'll just have to get the frag over it."

"We already beat the slag out of each other; it didn't help much," Sunstreaker growled.

"Obviously you didn't do it right," Flamewar sniffed. "Sometimes I wish I could take a rock and beat some sense into her. She's so damn wrapped around Megatron that she can't see straight!"

"You knew we were alive on Cybertron- we've fought before. Why didn't you tell her?" Sunstreaker asked grimly.

"Because I can't fragging stand her!" The femme made a derisive noise, bristling. "It was none of my business what she thought, even when she was under my command. As soon as she transferred into Special Ops, she was none of my business at all. I said good riddance that orn!"

"You're all spark, Flamewar," Sideswipe intoned wryly.

"Whatever," Flamewar snorted. "Megatron's dead, you're not: what's more to figure out?"

"It's not that simple," Sunstreaker countered sourly.

"Oh yes it is," growled the femme. "Watch me: I bet I can beat it into her." She suddenly pushed to her feet and marched straight for the open hatch of the _Darksyde_.

"What do you think she's going to do?" Sideswipe wondered as the three mechs turned to watch the departing femme.

"Use a metaphorical rock on Virus's head," Barricade offered vaguely.

Flamewar stopped by a tree to eye the thick lower branches jutting from the trunk. Inspiration came from the song now bleeding like tar out the speakers around Carnéval-

"…_C'mon strip me of my power  
Beat me with the chains.  
And if I'm the King of cowards,  
You're the Queen of pain…"_

Oh, she was going to be the Queen of Pain alright. Selecting a sturdy branch, she ripped it off and slung it over one shoulder. Spinning sharply on her heel, she swiftly made her way to see one particular four-legged pain in the aft.

"That looks like a very literal tree branch," Sideswipe pointed out.

"It is," replied Barricade.

And suddenly all three mechs were scrambling to run after the femme. She made it into the ship before they did, though her planned assault was impeded by the presence of Trojan and Worm. They had been sitting inside the hatchway watching over the third of their trio while Soundwave worked on her, so when Flamewar came marching through, they hadn't needed to do anything more than reach up, steal her stick, and toss it out again. Sideswipe jumped out of the way just in time before he was whacked on the head by the makeshift club.

Sunstreaker was first up the ramp, forcibly removing Flamewar to the far side of the cargo bay where she could do the least amount of damage. She kicked and hissed, bristling so that her needle-like armour cut into the Autobot's still-healing metal. Barricade shot over and stole the femme away, heedless of the injury he was sustaining to himself. By now, he was immune to it. Sideswipe was quick to catch his twin's hand and drag him away when he caught a cold glint in the berserker's optic- a precursor to something worse.

The commotion drew the attention of the two entities seated in the shadows of the bay. One readily turned with a frown, visor flashing in reprimand.

"If you are here to cause trouble, Flamewar, I suggest you go somewhere else," Soundwave ordered.

"It's a lost cause, Soundwave; give up already!" the femme spat, still writhing against the restraint of her mate. "You can't fix something that doesn't want to be fixed! Stop wasting your time."

"I can hear you," Virus snarled, bristling. "I'm not broken: I don't need to be fixed."

"You can barely stand up!" Flamewar finally managed to smack Barricade away, bringing herself to stand at her full height. The needle-points of her armour trembled. "You are such an ungrateful wretch! We've been doing everything to keep your sorry hide alive and you go do something stupid like get shot by fragging _Ironhide_! The Autobots are bad enough, but he's the worst one of them all! The very least you could do is _look_ at the damn Twins for all the trouble they've been through! You stupid fragging half-bit!"

There was a long pause in which Virus's optics narrowed, a rolling growl vibrating through her. "I don't want to see them." Turning back into the comfort of her corner, Virus resumed her sulking in the lap of Megatron's corpse like the world's ugliest lapdog.

Soundwave, after a general pause, went back to seeing to Virus's wounds. Unlike Sunstreaker, she was still in a precarious position in regards to her health. There was an abundance of scattered frame parts laying around the _Darksyde_ that were fine to be stripped for Sunstreaker's use, but Virus's quadruped frame made finding appropriate fits difficult. Her internals were the worst off. Sunstreaker, no matter how unintentionally he had meant it, had severely damaged several vital apparatuses when he had collapsed her side.

"Stop being a half-bit glitch!" Flamewar continued to snarl, even more incensed now that she was being ignored. "How many freaks in the universe do you know with spark resonances like them?"

Virus remained silent, burying his faceplate deeper into Megatron's armour.

Soundwave once again sent a severe glare over his shoulder. "If you will not calm down, Trojan and Worm will remove you for me."

"She's a hopeless case. Let her die," Flamewar hissed. Trojan and Worm bristled, but Barricade interceded before they could do anything. He impressed himself into their bond and forced some semblance of calm into his mate, which she accepted sourly.

Sunstreaker flexed his claws, snapping the joints of his fingers back into place. He didn't want to lose his mind in here. Sideswipe still had a hand on his forearm, his grip tightening ever so slightly. When they were both sure nothing was going to happen, they stepped away. Sunstreaker frowned, now looking around the cargo bay for some kind of sign of what to do now. Sideswipe jerked his head in Virus's direction, making little shooing motions for Sunstreaker to go over. Reluctant at first, the golden twin eventually gave in, brushing his hands down his front and straightening up self-consciously. Soundwave helpfully shifted out of the way so that Sunstreaker could come to stand near Virus's head without getting in the way of repairs.

"Moonfly," he intoned.

"Frag off," she growled.

Not the best reply in the world, yet it was something of an improvement over being ignored completely. At least this way she was acknowledging his presence.

"This is getting old, Moofly. Can't you just accept that I'm me?" Sunstreaker asked.

"You're not you- not Sunstreaker, I mean." She wouldn't even look at him. Instead, she kept her faceplate laid against Megatron's chest. "The Autobots bombed Kaon; Sunstreaker and Sideswipe died when everything collapsed. I don't know what you are… well-programmed drones, Autobot spies… _ghosts._"

"I'm not a ghost. Sides and I got out in time," Sunstreaker said. "Megatron lied to you."

"He didn't."

Sunstreaker leaned down, only a breath away from Virus's faceplate. "Then how can I be standing right in front of you?"

"You're not real."

"The pit I'm not." He took one of her forepaws and placed it against his mangled chest, letting her feel the steady beat of energy beneath. "I know for a fact that there's no spark in the universe like mine-."

"_Except mine,"_ Sideswipe coughed in the background.

"-and your loyalty programming only goes so far. It doesn't take away your free will completely. You're smarter than this, Moonfly. You used to be able to bypass that loyalty programming for me all the time. Do it again for old time's sake."

"You're trying to trick me."

"No, I'm not." He growled in frustration, his grip tightening around her claws. "Trust me, I am Sunstreaker."

Virus peeled her faceplate out from the crevice of Megatron's rotting armour, first blinking warily up at Sunstreaker's faceplate, and then staring at the hands that held her forepaw to his chest. Beneath it all was a spark that was warm, its energy painfully familiar. She stared long and hard, fighting a mental battle with herself. Her programmed loyalty for Megatron, the part of her she had embraced the orn Sunstreaker died, raged and tormented her with every moment she lived without her master. Lord Megatron's word was law. His death was The End. Against that came a shrivelled, forgotten self that used to understand that Megatron was only mortal, the part that separated loyalty from obsession, love from blind worship.

A trickle of energon streamed down from her olfactory sensor and from the corner of her right optic. The internal pressure of trying to overcome her core programming was too much stress for her already damaged infrastructure.

"Moonfly!" Sunstreaker dove forward to catch her head as she collapsed.

"I don't understand why he would lie," Virus murmured. "Why bother?"

"Who knows? Not even the best of us could understand someone like him." He cradled the quadruped's head in his arms, staring down at it without feeling the usual burn of repugnance when touching something so ugly. "He probably wanted to set you against the Autobots completely. You can be dangerous when you when you want to be."

She blinked slowly, dragging in a deep draft of air through her intakes. "I would have known if Sunstreaker were alive-."

"I _am_ alive," Sunstreaker insisted, an edge coming into his voice. He lifted her head in order to force her to look at him. "I've got one thing to prove it." In the oppressive silence of the cargo bay, the pneumatic hiss-crack of a chest splitting could be heard.

By this time, the others had managed to creep close enough to see and hear the exchange better. Soundwave managed to keep them at bay, but could not exactly throw them out all together without inciting a riot. Light spilled out from the growing crack in Sunstreaker's chest. Unease stirred the small crowd, many of them turning away out of embarrassment or respect. Sideswipe remained staring, familiar with his seeing the other half of his spark. He was more stunned that his brother would expose himself so readily. Virus was forced to stare, first because her head was trapped in Sunstreaker's grip, and then when his hands fell away she was too mesmerized by the brightness to look away.

"_Your spark,"_ she murmured. It was like staring into a miniature sun.

"Yes, _my_ spark." He loomed over her, his features cast into sharp relief by the brightness of his own life force. He was more aggressive than he was more aggressive than he meant to be to make up for the discomfort he was currently being forced to endure. "You were a medic once; you've seen plenty of sparks, including mine. You know what mine looks like."

"…like the sun," she murmured in a gravelly whisper. Her gaze dropped, optics dimming. Realization appeared to be taking root, or else it was shame. She was silent for a long time, unable to look up into the mech's spark or meet his simmering gaze. Leaning to the side, she rested her head against Megatron's chest for strength. In a voice of defeat, more a sigh than anything else, she said, "You really _are_ him, aren't you?"

"I've been trying to tell you that for orns, you half-bit." He braced his hands against Megatron's corpse, leaning over it as if sagging in relief.

Flamewar suddenly spoke up from the background, her hands tightly clamped over her optics. "That's all fine and dandy, but now that we're getting somewhere, can you put that thing away?"

With a grunt, Sunstreaker snapped his sparkcase shut, the rest of his chest following. He grimaced as tender gears grinded against each other. "There, I'm covered. You can all look again."

Several sets of wary optics cracked open slowly.

"All this time…" Virus growled, shaking her head. "I can't believe it."

"_Believe it,"_ Sideswipe insisted from the sidelines. "Otherwise you're going to drive us slagging crazy."

"Sideswipe?" Virus intoned unsurely, looking the Lambo up and down.

"The one and only," teased the red mech. "How could you not recognize a spark resonance like mine? I'm amazing."

"You've hardly changed," she murmured wryly. It was hard to tell if she meant that as a good thing or not.

"Why mess with perfection?" Sideswipe chuckled, relieved to finally be getting somewhere.

Virus sat back with a groan, gear grinding, exposed wires sparking. "I've been such a fool."

"We could have told you that," Flamewar growled.

"Hush," Barricade murmured.

"All this time, he lied to me," Virus sighed, bowing her head. The flow of energon streaming from her olfactory sensor and optic thickened, the stream becoming a steady bleed.

"Yeah, he lied." Sunstreaker's gaze slid to Megatron's dead faceplate, feeling both the chronic black rage he had held in reserve for the mech and the long-buried respect and awe he had once felt for the regal being who presided over the Kaon gladiatorial rings. And now he felt disgust for the dead and rotting frame. He wanted to rip it apart. Melt it down. Pulverize it to dust and throw it into a black hole. He resisted the violence, respecting the fact that he was not the one to take the fragger's life and the corpse wasn't his to abuse in death.

"I _should_ have known, but I kept deluding myself." Virus twisted around so she could trace her claws down the side of Megatron's head. Petting him. Caressing him. Her claws trembled. She was still too loyal to cause the corpse harm, though she wished with all her spark to rage and bite and shake the thing to pieces. "I even heard Decepticons talking about you… about a pair of twins. You're the only living pair, but I kept telling myself that it had to be someone else. It couldn't be you. Megatron couldn't be wrong…"

"You were programmed that way. You couldn't help it," Sunstreaker sighed, petting the quadruped's thick neck.

"I am a liability because of it." Now a steady gush of energon came from the corners of both optics and streaming down from her olfactory sensor. A black sludgy substance, like old congealed oil, started to bubble up from her insides and foam at the corners of her mouthplates. She was fighting her programming to the bitter end. "I was just a tool to him," she sighed, flecks of black foam spattering everywhere. Her already-gravelly voice became gurgled and distorted. "My only worth was in my viruses."

"He shared no compassion for any of us," Soundwave said solemnly. "You are not the only one to have been made insignificant under him."

Virus barked a harsh, hateful laugh. "At least the rest of you were under no illusions."

"You are under no illusions now," shrugged the mech. "From the sounds of things, you've finally figured out Megatron is not your master anymore."

"But what purpose do I serve without him?" Virus wondered bitterly.

"Create one. You are a fine mercenary and an excellent viral specialist; you have existed thus far in those roles without Megatron looming over you. What is to stop you from continuing without him?"

"My programming, for one," Virus growled sullenly. "It is not that easy to conjure a purpose from thin air. Can you even say what yours is? You are hardly a communications officer anymore. You have no role here. Why stay at all?"

"My purpose is my own, as are my reasons for staying." Though Soundwave lacked intonation in his voice, it was still clear what he was trying to say; the crew of the _Darksyde_ were a twisted bunch, each with their own set of quirks and problems, but they'd somehow forged a twisted loyalty to each other that none were partial to giving up just yet. They had no better place to go other than to stay with each other.

"I see," Virus murmured on a sigh. Hidden in the foam-flecked noise were the words, _"thank you."_

Soundwave nodded.

"Do you mind extending your purpose here to do me a favour?" asked the quadruped. "You and I both know there aren't enough parts lying around the _Darksyde_ to repair me, and we can't risk cannibalizing the ship more than we have or it won't fly it anymore."

The mech inclined his head. "What do you propose?"

Virus dared a glance to the side where Sunstreaker still stood. He stared back, looking awkward yet determined. She looked away, unable to handle the sight. "There is a frame in my quarters- it's the one I inhabited before this one. I've maintained it. It's in perfect working order. I want you to reformat me into it."

"You still have that old thing?" Flamewar laughed. "I would have thought you'd have sold it by now."

"Her first frame?" Sideswipe wondered quietly to the femme.

"I guess- that stupid little green thing," Flamewar shrugged, rolling her optics.

The twins shared a glance, their optic ridges arching.

"Are you sure?" Soundwave enquired seriously.

Virus rumbled darkly, hunching. "I have no choice if I want to live."

"Very well." An order was transferred to Rumble and Frenzy to collect the frame.

"While you're at it..." She dragged in a deep draft of air, holding it in, contemplating her next request. She then released the air and said, "I need you to reprogram me so Megatron will no longer be a problem."

For a brief moment, Soundwave looked stunned, though he was quick to school his features. "Remove your loyalty programming?"

"_Yes."_

He sat a little straighter. "Doing so won't fix you; it will only remove the compulsion, not your feelings for him."

"I don't care," Virus spat, bristling. "For once in my life, I want to be able to be in my head without him in it. Do it before I change my mind!"

"If that is what you wish." He inclined his head again as a stand-in for a proper bow.

"Good." She collapsed into Megatron's lap with something like a sob. _"Good."_

"It's good that you're doing this. It'll get easier, I swear," Sunstreaker murmured, reaching out to touch her shoulder. His hand was smacked away.

"_Don't,"_ she hissed. "Please don't. Not yet."

Trojan and Worm eased forward, gently interceding between them. Virus was suddenly the center of a group hug. They were there for her as they always had been, aware of how hard the decision was for her, and proud that she had been able to make it. She sagged into them, letting them hold her. Sideswipe glided to his brother's side and offered comfort in his own way, snaking an arm around Sunny's narrow waist to support him both physically and emotionally.

"You did good," whispered the red Lamborghini.

Sunstreaker looked away, focusing on the floor. "I guess." He started when a pair of thick black feet came into his line of sight. Looking up, he was surprised to find Worm taking up the majority of his vision. "Can I help you?"

He suddenly found himself being hugged. Disturbed and confused, he patted the hulking mass of metal on the back as he waited to be released. As the one mech peeled away, the other came forward. Before Sunstreaker could escape, he was caught in yet another hug. Their blunt faceplates spoke of their sincere thanks; Sunny had been the one to save Virus and had been the one to finally get her to see past her own programming. As far as they were concerned, Sunstreaker had a spark of gold.

"You're welcome," Sunstreaker said uneasily, now patting Trojan on the arm while trying to lean away at the same time.

Sideswipe stood back and watched the scene, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or join in. He turned to Virus and smirked. "Your friends are great," he said.

Virus shrugged, and then hacked when her vents clogged, spattering Sideswipe's front with black foam and energon. Sideswipe tensed, staring down at the new mess.

"Oh, that's lovely," he groaned.

This seemed to be the right cue for Trojan and Worm to release the increasingly unnerved Sunstreaker and return to Virus's side. They tilted their heads as Virus met their expectant stares.

"You'll have to help me up so I can reach properly," she said. With great care, their hands moved under her forelegs to help her heave her haunches. Placing a foreleg on each of Megatron's shoulders, she balanced there, meeting her master's dead gaze. He was still handsome, even as a cold, dead corpse. She stared into his shadowed optics, searching them, silently saying goodbye. A mesmerizing numbness flooded her aching frame as the emptiness took on hypnotizing depth. As she stared, the abyss stared back.

"You're going to interface with that thing, aren't you?" Flamewar asked warily, her mouthplates curling. "That's disgusting; it's rotted all the way through. The CPU probably isn't even in tact."

Virus did not look away as she answered. "I have to see if everything really was a lie. I want to know for sure." Her interface panel had been ripped off in her fight with Sunstreaker, so all that was needed was to pry the cord out. She did so with ease.

New tension suddenly filled the air. Everyone alive in the cargo bay was instantly battle-ready without even realizing they had activated their battle modes. Instinct readied them, just as it told them there was a predator lurking in the room, unseen and unheard but felt right down to their sparks.

Sunstreaker clenched his fists, seeking his brother through their bond. Though they stood next to each other, they inexplicably felt a millions of miles apart now. Their bond felt as if it had been hollowed out by whatever radiating force was making itself known. Flamewar and Barricade were having the same trouble, marked by how they took each others' hands to assure themselves of each others presence. Soundwave rumbled darkly, seeking his symbiotes.

Sideswipe's hand took Sunstreaker's, squeezing hard. "You feel it, don't you?" Sunstreaker nodded. "What is it?"

"Nothing good." All expression drained from Sunstreaker's faceplate, his optics hollowing out to dead flints of crystal. He went numb from the inside out. Sideswipe felt the change, bristling. Sunstreaker's hand tightened around his brother's. "I'm not doing it on purpose," he growled. Something else was messing with them. He then reached for Virus with his free hand, claws curling around her foreleg, biting into the armour.

"Don't do it," he ordered, finding his voice impossibly cold now.

Virus turned dull optics on him. "If I don't, I'll never know."

She shook away from his hand, continuing with her mission. Beneath her, Megatron's corpse groaned, though it did not sound like shifting metal bowing to her weight. Instead, it was a haunting noise. A hungry noise.

"Moonfly, _don't_."

"_I have to."_ Enthralled. Hypnotized.

She raised her cable to the corpse's port. Her intakes hitched. No one's vents were cycling anymore. No one dared to move, and if they had even tried, they would have discovered themselves rooted to the spot by inexplicable paralysis. The corpse's empty optics pierced straight into their sparks and rendered them frozen. Numb. The moment Virus's cable hovered over the connecting port stretched on for an eternity. And then the cable was physically jerked out of Virus's grip, only to ram home into Megatron's port.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Electricity suddenly prickled sharply down their collective armour. Their sparks pulsed double-time as the most primal side of themselves became aware that something unseen and _huge_ was now stirring, shifting, waking up. Unseen optics were cracking open, looking down on them all...

Whatever warmth had been lingering in the cargo bay was sucked out, replaced by a depth of black coldness that exceeded even the vacuum of space. The light shining in from dawn turned hollow and grey. The atmosphere turned palpably thick, clinging to their armour like sheets of ice, dead weight dragging them down. Gravity itself became a physical entity concentrating itself around a single epicentre: _the corpse_.

Before their optics, Megatron's frame twitched.

"No," Virus gasped, trying to jerk away. "This isn't right." Her optics bulged as she realized she no longer had control of her frame. She was caught in the monster's grip. It felt as if the touch of death itself were flooding into her. The metal of her hind legs turned grey as the life was sucked out, necrosis setting in. Paint started to crack, curl, and flake away as her energy was drained away and death crawled up her metal. _"No! Let me go!"_

Between the slates of Megatron's rotted grey armour, lights began to form. Shifting, oozing. Dark lights. Black lights. The incarnation of pure malevolence- ancient, primal, and filled with palpable malice. All other ambient light appeared to be absorbed into the shifting hues between the armour. Shadows lengthened and came to life.

For the first time in nearly a full human year, Megatron's corpse dragged in a ragged draft of air and cycled its vents. Feet shifted. Hands clenched. Chest expanded. Finally, _finally_, deep, empty optics flooded with black light. Not alive again, but something worse. A terrible smile curled along those still-cold, still-dead mouthplates.

"_**YES." **_

Virus's optics curled back in her head as the last dregs of her energy were drained away. Her whole frame was nearly dead all the way through. Her head fell to one side, lulling on a neck that couldn't support her any more. Blind optics landed on a blur of gold.

"_Help," _she begged hoarsely.

Whatever spell had held Sunstreaker immobile shattered upon hearing the broken plea. He leapt forward, claws extended, managing to slash through the cable connecting Virus to the awakened corpse. He hissed as he was blinded by an eruption of light sparking from the severance. Megatron's infuriated roar was a noise no mortal could make, drowning out all other noise. Sunny did not even have time to register a spiked arm swinging for him before he was flying into a wall across the cargo bay. Virus's drained carcass came flying after him, driving him deeper into the buckled wall. Worm and Trojan leapt for an attack, only to be thrown away in the same fashion. Their combined weight collapsed the wall, knocking Sunstreaker unconscious.

Flamewar snarled, racing to attack before anymore damage could be done. She leapt for the faceplate and hooked her claws in the top, viciously raking them down and taking everything with her. Congealed energon spattered up her arms and across her faceplate. Another deafening roar followed. A blast of frigid energy erupted from the beast, throwing the femme off. Before she could catch her feet and attack again, she was caged in the monster's claws.

"Flamewar!" Barricade roared, only to be thrown away by a secondary shockwave of energy.

Flamewar twisted on herself, her arm transforming. She aimed to blow whatever was left of Megatron's head off, horrified to find that his faceplate had already repaired itself from her initial attack. Without a second thought, she shot for the head. Three close-range shots decimated it to smoking ashes. Even without a head, the frame kept moving; the grip of the claws around Flamewar tightened, crushing her torso. To her deepening horror, the head began to regenerate. Metal and ash cracked, crunched, jerking upright, twitching and shifting; it was the most unnatural thing she'd ever seen.

Soundwave shot to his feet, bringing his weapon to bear. "Release her!"

Barricade was up again too, flail at the ready.

Megatron's reformed head turned as it heard the charging whine of weaponry. He turned too far, almost 180 degrees around. Not natural. No fear crossed into his burning optics.

"_Drop her!"_ Barricade roared. He didn't dare unleash his flail in such tight quarters where he could accidentally strike his mate.

"**Insignificant pests." **One hand reached out, wrapping around the burning muzzle of Soundwave's gun. Under his touch, rust erupted across the metal. The barrel buckled. Soundwave jerked away before the necrosis could pass to him. There was nothing by rotted dust moments later.

Frenzy and Rumble burst into the room through the collapsed wall, the frame they had been carrying thrown aside as they prepared for battle.

Soundwave threw his arm out, keeping them at bay. "Don't touch him!" he ordered.

Megatron turned for the exit, Flamewar still hostage in his grasp.

Barricade and Sideswipe snarled, running after the monster. The Saleen was caught by Soundwave and shoved into the floor to prevent him from attacking, but the Lamborghini was too quick and spry to be caught. Dodging around the jet, he made a beeline for Megatron. First he shot out the back of the mech's knees, and then ran up to deliver a smashing blow to the side of Megatron's head. The metal caved under his fist, swallowing his hand up to the wrist. A rolling growl sounded from deep within the rotted frame, and suddenly burning agony shot up his neural circuits. Wrenching his fist away, Sideswipe discovered his fingers already disintegrated to rust, now crawling up his arm.

"Slag! Slag!" he howled, clawing at the appendage as it rotted before his optics.

"Hold it out!" Soundwave demanded. Without thinking, Sideswipe flung the appendage out, only to have it severed by a piece of metal sheeting ripped off from a wall. He screamed as split-second white-hot pain raced through him. Neural circuits unable to shut down fast enough, he passed out instead. His limb fell to the ground, writhing in place for a few moments before it was no more.

Megatron made down the _Darksyde_'s ramp to the ground, turning his gaze skyward. He paid no need to the writhing wretch in his grip as she cursed and spat, continuing to fruitlessly shoot. When the nuisance of her gun became too much, he took it between two fingers so that it became no more. Her efforts doubled as his turbines powered up, kicking and scratching like a wild thing. Dried salt and grime shook loose as his whole frame vibrated. With a powerful leap, he and Flamewar were in the air.

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw gave a screech as Megatron shot past them. Their immediate pursuit was halted as Soundwave's order to _STAY AWAY FROM IT _rang loud and clear in their heads. Nightshade had not been privy to it, pursuing Megatron nonetheless. She was too well-trained to balk at a moving corpse; whatever the thing was, she had it in her sights. Even as Soundwave verbally ordered her, shouting from the ground, she did not turn back. She would prove herself to her mentor this time.

"Go back, Nightshade!" Flamewar roared, waving her arms. "Don't touch him!"

"Don't worry! I'll stop him!" the femme assured, drawing her rapier. She surpassed him in the sky, turned sharply with the point of her rapier down, and then dived. The combined effort of her downward force and Megatron's upward flight allowed her rapier to pierce through the mech's armour straight into the sparkcase. A killing blow.

"You fool!" Flamewar hissed, kicking furiously in an effort to dislodge the other femme.

Megatron rumbled darkly, staring down at the offending weapon jutting out from the center of his chest. With a grunt, he wrenched it out, Nightshade still holding on fiercely. She struggled against him, trying to free her rapier in order to attack again. She didn't see the rust coming until it touched her hands, and then it was too late.

"Nightshade! Nightshade, _no_!" Flamewar howled as the other femme screamed.

Unperturbed, Megatron nonetheless paused to watch as the cosmic rust spread. The femme was too far from the ground to be saved by anyone down there. Even as she raced for help, the disease spread. By the time she hit the earth, her spark was extinguished. She was dust.

Soundwave's enraged roar rocked Carnéval.

Megatron turned his gaze skyward once more. From horizon to horizon, sky was alive with the beckoning flames of an ancient ship. A dark smirk curled the mech's mouthplates.

"**There you are." **


	49. The End is Nigh

**Queen of the Red Skittle**- I'm glad you enjoyed the interaction of Sunny and Sides in the first scene of the chapter. It was actually a lot of fun to write. They're quite a special pair of imps, aren't they? Of course, by the end of the chapter, everything goes to hell in a hand basket, but at least everyone got some minor happy moments in the beginning! 8D As for what has become of the Big Bad Nasty who just had the joy of raining rust on everyone's parade, his purpose in the Grande Scheme of Things will be revealed soon enough. =)

**Independent C**- Awkwardness between questioning semi-Autobots and Decepticon-Neutrals trying to find their place in the world is a given, I'd think. It sure makes for weird reunions- you're not sure whether you're supposed to hug them or kill them. XD Virus's loyalty programming is like brainwashing; she's subconsciously aware of how messed up she is, but her consciousness is programmed to serve and obey Megatron with unswerving worship. This might be a crude comparison, but her condition is similar to religious zealots who refuse to acknowledge the Earth is older than 6000 years, even though there are copious amounts of evidence to the contrary. *hands over the brain bleach* I know you've been waiting to use the bleach for a while, but don't overdose. XD

**King of Pain**- I could elaborate, but it's so much fun allowing the story to unfold naturally. =) As for killing blows in WE, it varies, just as it does with humans. To the head or spark is generally a good way to kill someone, unless their physiology is different in someway. Both humans and TFs can take quite a beating and survive, but I'd say TFs are far more adapted to survival since they've been at war for so long and have been honing themselves to live through the worst.

**Flameshield**- Oh, there's no need to apologize~ I'm simply happy to hear from you again. ^_^ I'm impressed that you have time to read anything if you're going through the middle of Basic; that's some hardcore stuff right there. My whole family is military, so I can relate to a degree. As for what has become of Megatron… he's not the Megatron we all know and love. He's something else, definitely. What that is, though, I'll leave that up to you to decide. =)

**Balrog Roike**- Hmmmm, I don't think Psi was particularly hateful for Jazz _before_ trying to manipulate him into resurrecting Megatron, although _after_ that whole debacle, I'm pretty sure the Fallen may be harbouring a grudge or two. XD I think Psi was initially looking for someone powerful and of a darker alliance to sacrifice themselves for his purposes. He just never factored in Jazz being as slippery as he is. What becomes of the Autobots and Decepticons now will be up to them. With such a threat looming over them, they'll hopefully be able to come to some real alliance.

**KyuubiSango**- lol~ Don't you know, my friend? No one ever stays dead anymore! The new fad is to come back as terrifying super!zombies and scare the life out of everyone! 8D

**Dramastar-Mel**- Eek! Speechlessness! I hope that's a good thing! 8D

**Lecidre**- You thought of the 'Exorcist' when Megs did his head-thing? That's so cool! =D That movie was actually the inspiration for the swivelling head in the chapter; I thought it was such a cool/creepy visual! 8D Zombies actually scare the ever living piss out of me, so writing the last chapter with Megatron rising ended up unnerving me quite a bit as well. The whole goal of the chapter was to unnerve/scare my readers, and I'm guilty happy to hear that I scared you. =P Sadly, I can't tell you if Flamewar is going to be alright, but I can say that you shouldn't give up on a femme as tough as her. She'd never go down without a fight.

**Litahatchee**- Awwww, thanks so much, Lita~ That really means a lot. *hugs* It really is hard to believe the story has come this far, and the lore of this universe has expanded so greatly. I'm just happy I was able to find such a great friend on this site *wink-wink-nudge-nudge* I'm honoured by the bestowment of such a medal~ Am I able to give them to others? Because I want to give about five (billion) to you! XD

**Iza-Lu**- Oh my goodness, that's really amazing to hear that you have been able to enjoy the WE series as much as you have. I'm quite humbled by it. *blushes* I'm not in any bookstore yet, but someday I will be. =P And I very much consider it a point of pride when I reduce grown women (and men) to squealing fans. XD Squealing is a very good indicator that I'm doing my job right. XD Another point of pride is that I can instil so many questions in a reader! You have no idea how much I enjoy it when readers leave so many questions and guesses in their reviews- it shows their interest and investment in the story, not to mention it helps me write the story itself. =P All of your questions are so good! They will be answered eventually, I swear, just not right away… I hope you continue to enjoy the story! =)

**Bluebird Soaring**- Jazz is a smart mech; even if it wasn't the Fallen trying to trick him, I don't think he would have interfaced with Megatron's frame. He's too smart not to listen to his own instincts when they're screaming to stay away. Virus, sadly, was too blinded to listen to common sense and look where that got everyone; a giant crazy-ass monster with Instant Rust powers. x_x There doesn't seem to be a lot of hope for our heroes, but don't count them out yet! There's a trick or two up their sleeves for sure!

**Chloo**- Yep, Earth is pretty much doomed. If we really want to be pessimistic, we can say the whole universe is very much doomed as well. ^_^; And we can all thank nutty Virus for her semi-love for necrophilia. *sigh* Good to know someone likes the classics as much as I do! 8D Cosmic rust was so awesome in G1, there was no way it could stay dead! (Sorry for the semi-bad pun) XD And I have to say that your connection between the Neu-Cons' base and the house from _A Series of Unfortunate Events _is awesome! I was thinking of a haunted carnival when I created it, but that rickety old house is such a perfect match too! Thanks so much for sharing your insight! =D

**Bad Dogg**- The Neutrals have it tough, with the whole waking up the Beast of Beasts, but we can all hope that things will turn out for them… right? ^_^;

**FunkyFish1991**- The thing you said about the willow tree was so inspiring~ I didn't know willows had such regenerative abilities. I was actually thinking of the healing properties of the white willow, symbolising the healing process Sunny is slowly evolving through. ^_^; And you wanna know a secret? Writing the happy bits of this chapter was fun. FUN I tell you. I think I might try it more often. =) But then again, now that you suggest writing horror, I kinda like that idea too… I wouldn't have to hold back on my gore and angst anymore! 8D Arms and other body parts will be severed all over the place just for you and your phobia! XD

_Sunstorm's…beliefs? I have no idea what to call them_- I have no idea if I will ever address this in the actual story, so might as well put this as an aside to Cybertronian culture (In WE verse). During the Golden Age of Cybertron, there were small groups of transformers who believed that Cybertron was the living embodiment of a sleeping Primus. Crazy, right? Well, everyone else on the planet thought so. The bots who believed are/were mostly artists, mavericks, philosophers, oddballs looking for a purpose in life and happened to stumble down that particular rabbit hole, and really old bots who still remember when belief in Primus was accepted without proof of science. Every sect has its own variances in beliefs, pretty much like Earth- some think Primus is a "god"/infallible ideal, while others merely believe he is the planet itself without supernatural interference. The majority of the species may use the name in vain, but they simply think of Primus as more of a fairy tale.

_Kremzeeks and Energy Vampires/Leeches- _Honestly, G1 is the holy grail of epic brain-farts. These two mofos were too good to pass up. =)

I hereby dedicate this chapter to my best friend and miracle worker **FunkyFish1991**, who spammed me with an amazing review spree of love. You, my friend, are the most wonderful creature on the face of this planet. Seriously. I have no idea where all this love or brilliance comes from, but I am in awe of it. There were several moments of me almost crying through your reviews because they were that damn amazing! I should just hand over the WE verse to you since you seem to be able to read it so well! XD

Special shout outs to the regular crew- **FunkyFish1991, Lecidre, Litahatchee**, and **Violetlight.**

Read, Review, & Enjoy~

**As We Come Together  
In Which the End is Nigh**

"It's going to be a good orn for flying," Thundercracker said absently as he peered out the window.

The clouds of Chaar's thick atmosphere had thinned a fraction over their small base the orn before, allowing the radiation of the too-close star Chaar orbited to superheat the planet's surface. Now that the clouds were back in place, it was safe to go outside again to take advantage of the massive updrafts of hot air swirling about. It was a flier's paradise out there- the updrafts were so strong, you hardly needed your thrusters to stay aloft. Bots could stay up there for joors drifting along. Some Seekers were already out enjoying themselves, drifting about as bright specks of cheerful colour against the reddish backdrop of the skies.

"So? Who cares what kind of orn it is," Skywarp huffed, passing Thundercracker yet again on his circuit of pacing.

"Maybe you and I should take a break and go for a short flight?" Thundercracker offered reasonably, turning his glowing gaze on his brother.

"No."

Thundercracker frowned. "You've been saying that for orns now."

"And I'll keep saying it until Starscream comes online," Skywarp replied stubbornly.

The navy-painted Seeker rolled his optics. "You're being such a Drama Prime about this, 'Warp."

"No, I'm not," snapped the black-and-violet jet, bristling.

Thundercracker arched his optic ridges. "Starscream is fine where he is; he's being watched over and no one would dare come after him here. We need to take care of ourselves too, you know."

Skywarp hissed, continuing to pace.

With a sigh, Thundercracker appealed to the only other conscious figure in the room. "Acidstorm, tell him he's being a Drama Prime."

A vibrantly green Seeker perked up from his survey of Starscream's motionless frame, blinking owlishly. Realizing he was being addressed, Acidstorm wrinkled his olfactory sensor and said, "Settle your own disputes. Don't drag me into them." He turned his peevish gaze on Skywarp. "And you're a Seeker, Skywarp. _You fly_. It's not good for you to stay on the ground for too long."

"I'll go flying later," Skywarp huffed, looking away.

"Go now," Acidstorm insisted flatly. Honestly, he wanted _both_ mechs to leave so that he could see to his patient without constant petty interruptions.

"I said I'll go _later_," Skywarp growled stubbornly.

"Fine, go later," Acidstorm said with a snort. "If you're going to stay here, though, you're going to mute it. I have more important things to do here than referee between the two of you." Putting his back to them, he returned to Starscream in a way that all but shunned the other two Seekers from the room.

Thundercracker aimed a glare in Skywarp's direction. "See? Now you made him angry."

"How was I supposed to know he was going to get all testy about things?" Deciding that he had paced enough, Skywarp turned on his heel and glided for the long bench his brother was currently occupying. Settling down with a heavy sigh, Skywarp's only comfort was Thundercracker's kind gesture of reaching up to rub his shoulder and wing. The touch felt ridiculously soothing.

"I just want him to come online," Skywarp confided softly, sagging morosely.

Thundercracker leaned in, his expression softening. "We all do, 'Warp."

They turned their gazes to the third member of their trine. Though his form was mostly obscured by Acidstorm's considerable wingspan and attitude, they could see enough of Starscream to contemplate. Thanks to the dual efforts of Acidstorm's attentions and Starscream's own bizarre regeneration program, the frame was back to its original condition. There was nothing _physically_ wrong with the mech anymore. In fact, he looked damn near pristine lying on the berth as he was. The only thing wrong with him was the fact that he wouldn't wake up. It didn't matter what any of them did, Starscream simply didn't want to come online.

Skywarp and Thundercracker were broken from their reverie as the windows next to them rattled, announcing someone flying low overhead. A brief flash of bright yellow and orange caught their optics through the crystal pane before the bot disappeared over the stilted building that served as their med bay. Coming around on a second loop, the Seeker transformed and landed on the wide landing pad jutting out from the front of the building.

"Sunstorm," Thundercracker announced before the newcomer entered.

"My orn can't possibly get any worse now," Acidstorm groaned acidly.

The door opened to admit the announced Seeker. He had a quiet expression about him that clashed interestingly with his eye-catching golden paint. Sunstorm was ever the oddball of their flock; one who refused to fight, studied too much, and maintained his white-blue optical settings rather than switching them to red. He scanned the room with a quick look to note who was who, and then made his bows to Skywarp and Thundercracker as the leaders of the Chaar Seekers.

"Good morning, brothers," he said. Soft as his voice might be, it was handsome and melodic.

"Good morning, Sunstorm," Thundercracker replied evenly, nodding to him. "I thought you were heading out today for some…" what had he called it yesterday? "…meditation and self-reflection?"

A small frown pulled at the edges of the Seeker's mouthplates. "Primus seems to have made other plans for me; the volcano I had planned on spending my orn on has erupted. There are lava pools everywhere. It will be a while before the area is cool enough to set down in again."

"That's unfortunate," Thundercracker said.

"_For us,"_ Acidstorm coughed quietly.

Sunstorm heard the other mech, glared in the scientist's direction, and then tipped his olfactory sensor in the air. "Not all of us can be gifted with your incredibly narrow-minded intellect, dear brother mine."

"And not all of us can have the talent to be so deluded as to believe in fairytales, dearest Sunstorm," Acidstorm replied in kind.

Skywarp and Thundercracker exchanged wry looks, not at all looking forward to being caught in the middle of yet another quarrel. Sunstorm and Acidstorm were perhaps the worst matched pair of Seekers ever to team up together. One was a scientist with a penchant for chemistry and a grounded belief that all things in reality can and must be scientifically proven, while the other was a philosopher and a devout member of an old, small sect of Cybertronians believing in the infallibility of Primus. Not that it had always been just the two of them; they had once been part of a trine with a femme called Quatra. She had been shot down some vorns ago, with neither surviving trine member coming to terms with her death very well. They blamed each other and weren't above tormenting each other as punishment.

To cut the inevitable argument off before it began, Thundercracker rose from his seat to intercede between the two. He laced an arm around Sunstorm's narrow shoulders and forcibly turned him away. "Tell me, Sunstorm, have you heard from the border patrols?"

"What? Oh, yes." He rattled off a number of reports that had recently come in, none of which held anything particularly interesting. Some were simple matters of weather conditions and recent eruptions across their geologically active planet, and others were off-planet reports of possible Decepticon splinter groups encroaching on their territory. At the end of Sunstorm's recital, Thundercracker exchanged yet another look with Skywarp. The darker mech frowned, shrugged, and the announced,

"Nothing we can do about the weather around here, but we can send out a few teams to warn off the other 'Cons. We don't need that kind of slag here right now. We have enough to deal with as it is." His optics flickered to Starscream for a moment.

Sunstorm bowed. "I'll send our best fliers out as soon as possible."

Acidstorm peered over his shoulder, looking hopeful. "Will you be leaving _now_ for the task?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I did come here with a purpose," Sunstorm replied with a sniff.

"Other than to annoy the slag out of me?"

"That's merely a bonus," sniffed the golden Seeker. "Since I was not able to go to the mountains, I believe I am meant to be here for Starscream. I have a feeling that today will be the orn that he onlines." From his subspace pockets, he procured several familiar items, among them being 13 roughly carved totems and a large round sphere of silver carved to look like Cybertron.

"You've been saying that every orn you come in here," Skywarp sighed, picking up one of the old totems and turning it over in his hands. He wasn't that familiar with the old stories of Cybertron, so he had no idea who the little carving was supposed to be of. Like most, he had little faith in Sunstorm's crazy philosophies.

"One of these orns, I will be right," assured the golden Seeker, plucking the figurine of The Wise One away from Skywarp. "These things, they take time and faith. We have to be patient. Starscream will come back to us when our Maker decides, not before." The Wise One was set down amongst his brethren. The totems weren't at all necessary to be in the room, but they added the right kind of ancient ambiance. Plus, it bothered the slag out of Acidstorm whenever the carvings of the Original 13 transformers were dragged out.

"For spark's sake, Sunstorm, stop getting their hopes up with all that slag," Acidstorm predictably grouched. "He's in a _coma_, not floating around on some rainbow cloud. He can reboot at any time with or without you chanting in his audio receptors. Whatever you're doing, it's not going to help worth a damn."

"Says the brittle spark of a non-believer," Sunstorm countered tersely.

"No, says the educated mind of an ex-Advisor to the Straxis research core," Acidstorm retorted. "What Starscream needs is _science_. If he were online right now, he'd agree. Science is what is keeping him alive and science is what's going to bring him back online, not _magic_."

"For the thousandth time, it's not _magic_," Sunstorm snapped, looking insulted by the use of the term. "Starscream may have been as narrow-minded as you, but that does not mean Primus has exempted either of you from his flock. I, for one, will not give up my faith simply because you say I'm wrong. I will continue to help Starscream my way." He moved to light the small scraps of incense he had traded for on an organic planet. The incense, like the totems, were not necessary, but they smelled better than the sulphur-rich atmosphere of Chaar _and_ they did wonders for his trine mate's disposition.

"You light those things in my presence and I am _gone_," Acidstorm hissed, glaring at the tiny broken sticks his wingmate was about to light with the tip of his heated nullray. Of all the half-bit, stupid things Sunstorm had done in the past…

"All the more reason to light them," Sunstorm replied smugly. With a soft crackle, the incense was lit and their perfumed essence was sent wafting through the room.

A little desperate to have something to do, Skywarp wandered around to the opposite side of the berth. He peered up at Sunstorm, deciding to shed his mantle as the leader of Chaar Seekers in order to be the brother who wanted nothing more than Starscream to come back. "Is there anything I can do this time?"

Sunstorm smiled warmly, happy to have some company. "Have a little faith," he offered.

"You'll have to give me some pointers," Skywarp said unsurely, gazing about at the foreign ritual objects strew about. "Is there something specific you do?" He flicked a totem. "Do I talk to these things?"

"If you like. I'm sure they wouldn't mind," Sunstorm assured. He perused the selection of 13 before choosing the right one for the task. "This is the Guardian of Space and Time; wherever Starscream's mind might be, whether trapped within his frame or out there somewhere-," he gestured vaguely around the room, "this one will know, and perhaps he'll help."

"Sure…" Skywarp shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, staring down at the little carving. What was he supposed to say to a dumb chunk of metal? _'Please bring Starscream back online- I'd really appreciate it. Thanks.'_ …That sounded stupid even in his head. He turned an imploring look on Thundercracker, who backed up a step and shook his head.

"No way."

"_Please?"_ Skywarp pressed.

"If anyone finds out…" the navy-blue mech whined.

"They won't. No one will say anything," Skywarp assured, sending a potent glare in Acidstorm's direction to let the Seeker know just how badly he'd be beaten into the ground if he said anything to anyone.

"_Whatever,"_ snorted the acid-green Seeker.

"Fine, I'll do it," Thundercracker relented, joining them around the berth.

"You three have lost your minds," Acidstorm huffed. He swung on his heel and marched for the bench beneath the window.

"Leave, then," Sunstorm relied curtly.

The scientist's optics narrowed. "Last time I left, you painted Starscream up like he was some gaudy mural on the side of a building. I'm not letting you _vandalize _my coma patient again, so I'm staying right here whether you like it or not."

"You stubborn, narrow-minded, little-!" Sunstorm cut himself off in order to drag in a deep, calming draft of incense-laden air. When next he spoke, he was forcibly calm. "I did not _vandalize_ him, you cretin; those were sigils from the Allspark! Now if you'll excuse us, we have something important to see to." He snapped his attentions back to Starscream, ignoring his wingmate's patent glare burning a hole through the back of his head.

"So," said the golden Seeker after a moment's tense silence, "I'll open with a few words." His low, melodic voice turned to a musical whisper as he began murmuring in an old, extinct dialect of Cybertronian. The chirps and whistles were soft and trilling while the hums haunted the air like ghosts; he was possibly one of the last fluent speakers of the dialect, learned and preserved through his studies of ancient Cybertronian lore and, strangely enough, through a bartender in a place called _Mac's_ who happened to be fluent in it. While Sunstorm spoke, his fingers traced sigils from the Allspark over Starscream's head.

Skywarp watched the progress of the other Seeker's fingers with a certain degree of jealousy, wishing he could remember enough of the Allspark to copy the sigils. He'd only gotten to see the Cube once on the orn he'd been sparked Those memories were ancient now, eroded by time. Unable to doodle like Sunstorm was, Skywarp instead chose to write in regular glyphs the message he wanted Starscream to hear- _please wake up- please wake up- please wake up. _

Thundercracker, noting his wingmate's activity, did the same with his own message- _be okay- be okay- be okay- be…you know what? Just come online already. You were always such a Drama Prime; I bet you're doing this on purpose. Starscream, I swear, if you don't snap out of this soon, you're going to drive me slaggin' crazy. Do you have any idea how long Skywarp and I have been waiting for you to come back- _Thundercracker looked up when he realized Sunstorm had stopped murmuring and was looking up expectantly at the two of them.

"Well?" prompted the golden Seeker, "Is there anything you'd like to say?"

"To who?" Skywarp wondered unsurely. He looked to the totem he'd been given, leaning away from it as it continued to stare at him.

"Anyone," Sunstorm said, placing a hand over his chest. "Say anything to anyone, so long as it's from your spark."

Thundercracker coughed discreetly, having already taken his turn addressing Starscream with his thoughts.

When neither Seeker could find the courage to speak up, Sunstorm deflated a bit, but pressed on determinedly. "Okay, I'll say a few things." He straightened up, pausing to gather the right words, and thus began with, "I would hope to call upon the mercies of Primus to help all of us in our lives. I hope to continue to be watched over through my own personal dilemmas, and I ask that Skywarp and Thundercracker be given strength while dealing with the health of their brother, and I would also ask a special favour to grant understanding and open-mindedness to the non-believer in our presence who has a spark like a stone-,"

"Cute, Sunstorm," Acidstorm growled from the background.

Sunstorm smirked a little, continuing, "-most of all, I would hope, dear Primus, that you would find it in you spark to look out for our friend, brother, and wingmate Starscream, whose mind is sadly not with us. I hope that it is within your will to return Starscream's mind to what it was in the same way his frame has been restored." He finally trailed off, smiling softly.

"That's it?" Skywarp asked, frowning a bit.

"That's it," Sunstorm replied. "You're welcome to say something of your own if you want. I'm sure Primus would be happy to hear from you. You are Starscream's trinemates, after all."

"You really want me to say something, don't you?" When Sunstorm nodded eagerly, Skywarp relented pathetically. "_Fine_. I'll try." He meet Starscream's sightless gaze, squeezing his brother's hand. "Okay, Primus, look, here's the score: Thundercracker and I, we want Starscream back. We like being in charge and all of the Seekers here, but everything we've done was really for when Starscream came back. He can be kind of stuck up, and yeah, he's a major slag-head when he wants to be, but he's still a part of our trine. All we want is for him to be okay. I… don't know if you're real or not, or if you're even bothering to listen, but if you do happen to be real and you are listening, we- Thundercracker and I- would really appreciate it if you helped Starscream."

"Ditto," Thundercracker piped in.

"That was very lovely," Sunstorm said quietly. "I will close with a few more words, if you don't mind. I wouldn't want to take up too much of Acidstorm's precious time."

Acidstorm snorted.

Quickly leading through another song, or hymn, or whatever it was he was saying in that old dialect, Sunstorm drew his last sigils and closed the small session. Feeling particularly expectant of something miraculous to happen, the three mechs stayed where they were and watched Starscream's motionless frame. They lasted all of a few short breems before they realized nothing special was about to happen. When Thundercracker could take no more, he turned away, scrubbing a hand over his faceplate.

"That was useless," he sighed, making his way for the door.

Skywarp opened his mouthplates to call his trinemate back, but sadly lost the words before they could be said. Thundercracker was right; burning weeds, lumpy carvings, and pretty words didn't bring bots out of comas. Who were they kidding? With a shake of his head, he walked away. The idea of a nice, long flight sounded pretty good right that breem. Catch a strong updraft and drift away for a couple joors...

Sunstorm's own spark plummeted, having been so sure that something would happen. Grinding the burning incense to dust, he swept it to the floor. The room was far too stifling now. He didn't have the spark to collect up his totems, so he left them to Acidstorm's mercy as he turned for a quick departure. By the door, his wing was caught by a light touch.

"I'm sorry it didn't work," Acidstorm said quietly. "Maybe… maybe next time?"

Sunstorm nodded sullenly, turning so that he could wrap his arms around his wingmate for a hug. Acidstorm returned the hug with a soothing back rub. While they may have had their differences, they cared for each other when it really mattered. They only parted when a light clatter of metal caught their attention. The tarnished ball of silver that represented Cybertron had rolled off the berth, now rolling past their feet, out the door, along the balcony until it rolled onto the landing pad to tap Skywarp in the foot before the Seeker took off.

"Huh?" Picking it up, Skywarp glanced to the other two Seekers. "Drop this?"

Sunstormed looked immensely befuddled as he shook his head in the negative.

"Oh." On a curious whim, Skywarp wandered to the entrance of the med bay to peer in again. He was in time to watch as Starscream's arm twitched violently enough to knock the carving of the Guardian of Space and Time from the berth.

"Starscream?" Skywarp breathed, optics widening. "Thundercracker, quick! It's Starscream! I think he's coming online!"

"What? Starscream?" Winging around sharply, Thundercracker transformed in midair so that he hit the med bay's landing pad at a jog. The small flock of Seekers who had come down from the clouds to speak with their leader also heard Skywarp's call and instantly descended in Thundercracker's wake. Seeing the small group heading down, several more curious Seekers were drawn in. In turn, a small flock of Seekers roosting on the rocks outside their main base quickly followed the commotion to see what was happening. They, of course, called to the rest so that nearly every Seeker within shouting distance was crowding in, around, under, and on top of the med bay. Good news was often hard to come by on Chaar, so any little thing tended to draw a crowd. Anything to do with Starscream drew _everyone_.

Thundercracker shoved his way into the med bay, pushing passed the stunned Sunstorm and Acidstorm. He came in time to witness Starscream's most violent twitch yet, knocking all the other totems to the floor. "Is he really?"

"Yes!" Skywarp whooped.

Starscream's vents cycled, stuttered, and then hacked a wretched cough. His optics flickered with dim light as they slowly came on.

"Starscream? Starscream!" Skywarp cried excitedly, scooping his arms beneath his brother to help him sit up. "You're awake! How do you feel! Acidstorm, get over here! Take a look at him!"

"Praise Primus!" Sunstorm exclaimed delightedly.

Upon the noise of the golden Seeker, Starscream's optics flashed to full brightness. "Primus?" he murmured confusedly. "What?"

"All of you, stop nattering like a flock of half-bits!" Acidstorm ordered to the growing crowd of excited Seekers jostling in the doorway and in the windows. They didn't stop jostling, though they were wise enough to quiet down. Acidstorm himself swooped in to take inventory of Starscream's vitals. They were stable, though a little on the weak side. He laid a hand to the side of Starsceram's head, tilting the Seeker's confused faceplate up, peering into his glazed optics.

"How are you feeling?" the acid-green Seeker enquired carefully, turning his patient one way, and then the other. When the other Seeker failed to reply, he then asked, "Do you understand what I am saying?"

Starscream blinked slowly, processing the question. Skywarp leaned into his range of vision, Thundercracker not from his side. Recognition finally fell into place. Like a spaceship hitting him at full speed, Starscream's mind finally caught up with the rest of him. He gasped, arched, and with a pair of arms that were surprisingly strong after having lain inert for so long, he grasped his wingmates tight and dragged them close.

"_I have to go back,"_ he howled hoarsely, his optics wide and wild as if he were out of his mind.

"To where?" Skywarp wondered, trapped helpless in his brother's vice-like grip.

"_Earth!" _

"What? Why?" Thundercracker demanded, reeling back from the sudden panic hitting him. To the periphery, Acidstorm leapt into action gathering an injector and sedative to ease Starscream back down. It seemed the coma had left some mental damages after all.

"_I have to go back! We're all in danger…!" _The Seeker exclaimed desperately.

There was a cold prick in one of his exposed energon lines, and then Starscream was silent and still once again.

* * *

The thing that was believed to be Megatron's corpse was not to be stopped by any means as it headed into the stratosphere and beyond. Into the cold reaches of space, it felt nothing. Even the ice that formed in his dried out energon lines from condensed water vapour in Earth's atmosphere was shaken off as a mere annoyance. His thrusters worked steadily to release him from the stranglehold of Earth's gravity. He would not be stopped by the will of some mudball organic planet nor any inhabitant of such a pitiful place.

Even the vexing beast trapped in his grasp was no hindrance, though she was a wretched annoyance as she howled, kicked, and clawed. She was a small morsel, but the rage and horror that radiated from her was befitting a creature several times her size. Her presence alone was enough to supply him with a bounty of negative energy to feed from. That mere fact was enough to keep her as a prize rather than throw her down to burn up in Earth's atmosphere.

Flamewar, for her part, would have rather taken her chances in the atmosphere.

Once fully immersed in the vacuum of space, Megatron's risen corpse was fortunate enough to not have to wait long. He was quickly indulged by the ever fickle demon-ship hiding out of sight in the nothingness. There was no flame that greeted him; this time, only a brief ripple of the stars alluded to the veiled monster, and then the veil was pulled aside only a little to reveal a gaping blackness that was colder than any grave. A great gasp of frigid air drew him into the depths. This was no place fit for any sane spark to be, but the thing in Megatron's frame had no spark, and it found itself welcomed into the void as if coming home.

There was nothing for any mortal to see in anti-space. There were no stars. No natural light. No warmth. But for something not mortal at all, there was much to take in. One inescapable detail was the fact that the darkness around them had mass, and soon coalesced into the shape of a ship surrounding them. It was a very large ship, and since it had materialized around them, Flamewar and Megatron's corpse had failed to see the ancient glyphs labelling the demon-ship as _Psi_. Not that a name would make the ship any less terrifying or huge.

Stark grey light appeared out of nowhere, hanging in the air without a definitive source; it was not any kind of light made in the natural world, but a form of lighter darkness that was thin enough to see through. Bizarre as it was, the light held a palpable presence; the feel of it against their armour was cold and oily, solid like a dense fog slipping into every crack in their metal. The strange light revealed a soaring hangar whose ceiling was so high that it was obscured into shadow while its four walls were so far apart that even they did not even seem to exist.

All was as silent as the grave. Even Flamewar's shrieks gave way to dead silence.

Standing under the weight of unseen optics watching them, the living and the risen were forced to wait. What they were waiting for was unclear to Flamewar, who perceived only nothingness around her and was so out of her mind with rage, agony, and terror that any detail was lost on her. Her companion, on the other hand, appeared well aware of someone, or _something_, coming, and was prepared to wait for it.

It was not long until a steady pattern caught their audios, announcing a set of coming footsteps. Whether the figure was living or otherwise was yet to be determined. It was a while longer yet of listening to the eerie tattoo before a small dot of yellowed light appeared in the gloom, bobbing as the figure walked closer. A large mech slowly coalesced, his single yellow optic fixed upon them in such a single-minded manner so as to be disturbing. He stood much taller than Megatron, in a frame that was of no Cybertronian construction. It was a disturbing amalgam of science and metallurgy without any hint of conscious aesthetics. The paint was the exact shade of classic malevolent deep-violet that represented the Decepticons.

Behind the mech came several noiseless drones in the form of hovercrafts. Three transformed, becoming as unassuming as the shadows as they lurked in the gloom away from the small crowd.

Flamewar hissed, her horror renewed as she recognized the make of the drones. They were the drones the Mastermind had often sent to contract a deal with the _Darksyde_. And if those were Mastermind's drones, then this had to be the Mastermind's lair. The aberration of a mech that loomed before them could only have been the Mastermind himself. Every curiosity and nightmare Flamewar had ever had about _who_ or _what_ the Mastermind could have been suddenly became nothing compared to the truth. As she met the blazing gaze of that single burning yellow optic, she knew this creature was more monster than mech.

"_Shockwave." _

Shockwave sized up his intruders with detached calculation. He was not overtly aggressive, nor even actively aloof. He simply stared down at them as if they were specimens smeared under a microscope to be surveyed and quantified. The only noise made was the disturbing whir of the mech's single optic as it adjusted itself, wider, smaller, brighter, dimmer. He determined that one intruder was a femme whose identity was catalogued as Flamewar, ex-Commander of the Femme Division of the Decepticons, recently a mercenary; she no longer bore the marks that would denote her function, so it was unclear what she was now. Her altered spark resonance revealed her as bonded. Her companion, however, was much more difficult to comprehend. Though the frame had all the appearances of Megatron, there was no spark resonance to confirm it. The energy that did radiate from the being was curiously negative, not unlike the energy Psi was prone to radiating. What differed between this grey-plated mech and the giant demon-ship was that the power output of the mech that far exceeded anything Shockwave had ever witnessed before.

The walls and floor of the ship shifted and quivered, vibrating wildly. Not a stranger to Psi's moods, Shockwave understood this as excitement, though could not fathom the source. The ship had seen countless Cybertronians dragged aboard; the sight of two more victims did not seem worth the effort at all.

Megatron's optics flashed as he too seemed to understand the mood of the ship. In fact, he knew the moods of the ship much better than anyone else present.

"Announce yourself," Shockwave stated.

"**I am your lord and master," **Megatron said. Though he was physically shorter than the other, his presence seemed to swell in the darkness until he could loom over Shockwave. **"Submit to this." **

Shockwave did not even blink in the face of such a claim. "There is no proof that you are my lord."

"**My word is proof." **

"Insufficient."

Psi rattled his floors in agitation, focusing the disturbance strongest around Shockwave's feet. The mech stumbled, much to the ship's satisfaction.

Megatron continued to stare darkly. As Shockwave rose to stand again, he pressed a claw to the center of the mech's yellow optic. A long scratch was made down the center, sinking into the crystal before disappearing again as quickly as it appeared. The light flickered for a moment, and then the optic swivelled several times, adjusting itself.

"**I am your lord and master. Acknowledge this; submit to me," **Megatron ordered once more.

Shockwave stood frozen for a breem, jerked straight, and then stiffly bowed to the risen corpse. _"My lord."_

Megatron let his satisfaction be known with a deep rumble, motioning for the other mech to rise.

Shockwave straightened accordingly. "This is unexpected. I had not anticipated your return… so soon."

"**I am not done away with so easily." **

"Of course, my lord." His flat gaze fell on Flamewar, who snarled like a caged animal. Without any inclination to the femme, he motioned forward two drones from the background and then addressed Megatron "Allow me to relieve you of that burden. She shall be put with the others."

Having forgotten about the femme he held captive, Megatron lifted the little spitfire to look her in the optic. She bristled and took a vicious swipe at his faceplate. Her usefulness to him was now gone, being that the nature of anti-space and proximity to Psi was enough to continue to energize him. He released her to the drones. Her previous vigour in struggling was renewed as she passed to her new keepers. Her needle-like armour gave her the initial advantage, shearing off the metal of the drones' hands, but they quickly adapted in order to subdue her. They were gone into the shadows quickly enough.

Shockwave suffered under the scrutiny of Megatron for a while longer, until the undead mech rumbled,

"**Have you succeeded in your mission?" **

"No."

Megatron's expression grew decidedly darker. **"You have been given time and all the resources this ship has at its disposal, and still you fail me this one order?" **

Shockwave inclined his head. "The task of arbitarily creating new, stable, sentient life forms without the use of the Allspark and Matrix is... difficult. The material I have been through has been unyielding at best; I have been through many trials and errors."

"**Have you succeeded in **_**anything**_**?" **

"I have discovered the upper limits of what a spark can endure before it is extinguished," replied Shockwave.

"**I have discovered that for myself many times,"** Megatron intoned with some measure of impatience. **"Have you anything of importance to report?"**

Shockwave paused, gauging the other's tone, and then he said, "Perhaps you would be interested to hear what I have created?"

Megatron inclined his head to denote his interest.

"One hypothesis I have been working with is that an existing spark may be separated into two seperate entities, similar to the phenomenon of spark-split twins. I have been endeavouring to replicate the phenomenon in order to create entities without the defect of a default connection to each other. The stress of the procedure often terminates experimental applicants, but the fraction that survive have yielded rather unexpected consequences to the tampering," Shockwave said. "The creatures are all still under my power. If you wish to see them, my lord, I can take you." He half-turned with a shallow bow.

Megatron considered the offer for a moment, sizing Shockwave up once more. After a tense moment, he acquiesced with a dismissive gesture of his hand. "**Lead on." **

On Shockwave's heels, Megatron was taken through the curious halls of the demon-ship. It was undeniably a living ship with a mind of its own, if the shifting corridors and changing walls were not indication enough. Initially, it appeared that Psi playing some immensely cruel game with them, leading them on in a way so as to leave them hopelessly lost. Shockwave's outright demand for a cease of the foolishness only seemed to increase Psi's enjoyment at their expense. It was only when Megatron growled quietly and laid a hand to a wall that Psi finally allowed the pair straight passage to their destination.

A door formed out of shifting panels in a wall, hissing open to admit them. The room within was a solid wall of blackness until sourceless grey light flooded the cavern. The holding room Megatron stepped into was much like the hangar in height, its numerous floors soaring high above them, so huge that it was nigh-impossible to comprehend the size. But this room was different in the respect that it was far from empty.

Walking to the railing at the edge of the walkway, Megatron leaned out and gazed down, noting how deep the prison cells sunk. There were many levels to this room, and each level contained an endless line of prison cells shaped like cages. Many of the cells appeared to be occupied, but the occupants were not always identifiable...

"**Interesting," **Megatron noted.

"Come, there is much more to see." Knowing that the other would follow, Shockwave led the way to the nearest occupied cells. With an introductory gesture to the creatures therein, the mech announced, "These are the principal aberrations that constitute the majority of my failed experiments."

Megatron came abreast of the cell and peered in. There were two individual forms discernable in the gloom, one which gave off illumination on its own, and the other which appeared in deeper shadow than necessary. The energy-based being took a running start for the force field of the cell as if excited for the chance at company, only to quail under Megatron's gaze. It skidded to a halt in a shower of sparks, and then burst into a frenzy of movement, bouncing off the walls and floor. It emitted a high-pitched shriek as it did so, vaguely sounding like, _"kremzeeeeeeeek!"_

Its sudden action was like a call to the others in the large prison room. Each cell containing one of the little energy beings lit up with various shades of the rainbow as the cells' occupants began whizzing about in panic, screaming as they did so.

The second creature in the initial cell curled farther into the gloomy corner of its cage, averting its timid optics from Megatron's stare. Though it had the shape of a normal Cybertronian, the metal was a single shade of uniform dark-grey, coloured by the shadows encasing it. Unlike its crazed companion, this specimen appeared to draw light in rather than exude it. Its optics were as black as two slates of obsidian. It appeared every bit like a corpse, but was not.

When the screaming from the energy creatures got too much for the ship itself to handle, a great roar resounded through the air, followed by an intense wave of pressure. In that instant, the creatures quieted to meek little sparks flickering in the corners. Some hid behind their shadowed companions in some feeble hopes of protection.

"**What have you created?" **Megatron enquired amusedly, clearly interested in the aberrations.

"They are partially split sparks, my lord," Shockwave informed.

"**Partial?"** mused the undead mech.

"It is not a perfect split, since they are not fully conscious beings, nor are they truly separate from each other, but they are unique life forms nonetheless. The one that appears to be energy-based comes from the half of the spark that I have termed 'spark-major', constituting the majority of the spark's presence and energy. They appear to be capable of perpetual energy output without any noticeable need to convert outside energy or mass for the purpose. Their voltage can reach dangerously high levels; their potential use in offensive tactics is quite high. They show limited amounts of intelligence, and for an unknown reason, they call themselves 'kremzeeks'."

"**And the other?" **

"They are 'energy leeches'; they are formed from spark-minor, which consists of minor residual energy levels diffused throughout the frame. The leeches appear to be of opposite nature to that of the kremzeeks, in that they are constantly absorbing ambient energy around them. They require this energy to maintain themselves, or the initial spark-minor energy keeping them animated will dissipate. As far as I can tell, they have unlimited energy storage capacity." Shockwave gestured to the pair as a whole. "However, separation of spark-major from minor remains incomplete; there exists between the two a singular... life potential. If one is extinguished, the other will perish as well. In that respect, they are limited creatures."

"**They are **_**fascinating**_**." **For all the twisted things he had seen in the universes, these particular deviations were uniquely monstrous. They had potential for a great many things.

"Your approval is gratifying, my lord." Although, since it was Shockwave who was saying this, his sincerity in the matter was entirely worthless. He required no gratification save for his own success, and until he succeeded in his original mission, he would receive no such satisfaction. Nonetheless, he was required to act as host to his lord, lest he suffer ill-favour. "Do you wish to see the rest of what my experiments have yielded?"

Megatron leaned away and cast his darkly glinting optics about the cavern of endless cages. He then settled his gaze on his companion.

"**No, I can tour this place on my own. Leave me,"** he ordered. He drew his claw down the force field, finding further amusement in how the captives within cringed away. Smart little things- they knew true danger when they saw it. **"I will summon you if I have any more use for you." **

"Very well." Shockwave was gone quickly enough, meaning to see to his own business which would have been taken care of before if he had not been interrupted by Megatron's arrival.

Though Shockwave's company was now gone, Megatron was well aware that he was not _alone_. It went beyond even the company of the mutilated forms inhabiting the room of endless cages. He was aware of a presence that lurked in every molecule of the dark ship. Far from being unnerved by it, Megatron was made impatient.

"**Enough lurking in the shadows; I know you are there," **called the mech, speaking to the general murk. The figure he was addressing would hear him regardless.** "Come out, Psi." **

A general silence hung in the wake of the request, and then a great sigh echoed through the cavernous room.

"I was having such fun being ignored by your lordship. Why ruin such fine disregard?" Psi replied airily, his voice echoing about with no hint of a source. The ship itself was speaking. "Please, do ignore me a little longer. It's not like I haven't spent the last _eon_ trying to find you, and then bring you back online when I find out you've been made into a scrap heap. Such unwavering service must mean very little in these harsh times."

Megatron growled, dead optics roaming the gloom in clear warning. **"I am in no mood to pander to you, you overgrown shuttle craft. Remember who you are addressing."** To his satisfaction, he felt tension tighten the floors beneath his feet. When the ship next spoke, it was accordingly humbled- though the feeling of humbleness obviously chaffed the demon-ship. He was not the kind of creature to wear humbleness well.

"My… _apologies_," the Fallen murmured. "I could never forget who you are."

"**Then materialize so that I may address you with greater ease." **

"As you wish." A head peeled out from the nearest solid wall, amber optics glinting. It went unseen by mortal optics, but its presence was most certainly felt in the numbing chill that befell every cage. The energy leeches groaned their agony while the kremzeeks sparked wildly, their shrieks colliding in a cacophony. In short order, the rest of the Fallen's condensed consciousness peeled itself out of the wall, brushed itself off in a needlessly meticulous fashion, and then bowed accordingly.

"It pleases me to see you finally awakened," Psi said as he straightened.

"**I'm sure it does." **

The Fallen wrinkled his phantom olfactory sensor, letting the wry remark slip. This was not a creature he could be freely snide with. Instead, he canted his head and said evenly, "If I had known someone was going to wake you on their own, I wouldn't have tried so hard."

The dark light of Megatron's optics churned, flickering. Psi bowed his head shallowly, backing down a step.

"Of course, I am your most loyal servant, and am most pleased you are here now," said the demon-ship. "I would have awakened you myself if I had had a spark and frame to do so with." Sharp optics peered up, alight with curiosity. "If you would indulge me, what little pest was fool enough to wake you?"

"**Does it matter? It was some scrap of metal already half-wasted before I got a hold of it," **the monster drawled, flexing a clawed hand with indulgent luxury and danger. **"It served its purpose. Nothing more." **

"True enough," shrugged the Fallen.

The undead mech cast a superior gesture to himself. **"I have wasted enough time lying dormant under Megatron's will; I am lord and master of this frame now."**

Psi chuckled lowly, and his dark humour was reflected in the slight vibration that passed through the floors of his ship-body. "It will only be a matter of time before this whole universe bows to you, yes?"

"**The end is nigh,"** mused the creature wearing Megatron's frame. It was only a matter of time before he would once again be able to savour the rich taste of whole worlds devoured.

"Poetry to my audios," Psi laughed in dark delight.

"**Come,"** beckoned the revived Devourer of Worlds, his smile sharp and predatory. **"There is much we have to discuss."**

A small flicker of flame, and then Psi was at the monster's side with a look of poisonous glee lighting his twisted spectral features. "Whatever pleases you, Master."

* * *

No matter how hard she hit them, no matter how loud she screamed or how deep she put her hand through their frames, the drones kept moving. They were like forces of nature. They stopped for nothing. She hadn't stopped struggling for a moment since they had taken her, and she had only be able to fell one of them by getting her arm free and putting her claws straight into its cold processor. Unlike Megatron's corpse, their heads didn't grow back. Unfortunately, her effort was wasted. As the first one fell, two more drones came to take its place.

She felt hard hands catch her wrists. A cold, wild thrill rushed through her. They forced her hands together, slipping stasis cuffs over them. A jolt of electricity shot through her. She gave one last vicious spasm, kicking wildly. Her motor functions were then disabled. She went utterly limp in the drones' arms. Although still conscious and fully aware of all that was happening around her, she was unable to do anything about it.

As ineffectual as lint now, she was tossed over a single drone's shoulder and carted the rest of the way to her impending fate. The way she was being held prevented her from seeing anything but the shifting back of her drone captor. She could hear, though. Not that there was much to listen to besides the uniform pattern of drone footsteps, all in time to each other, perfectly measured, no step out of place. So... drone-like. Absolutely maddening. The longer she was forced to listen, the more deeply disturbed she became. Her sensors were gone; she had no chronometer, no proximity sensor, no spark resonance scanner. She had nothing.

Her spark screamed as her bond to Barricade was severed deeper with every step she was dragged farther away from him. Primus, it hurt more than she imagined it would. It was too soon still for a separation of this magnitude. Every second that passed was like rubbing white-hot sandpaper up and down her spark.

The drone carrying her stopped abruptly, letting Flamewar's frame bounce and jostle freely. She could hear the pneumatic hiss of a door opening. A cold draft washed over her, colder and deader than anything she had ever felt before. As they started walking forward again, her head was bounced to an angle that allowed her to see that there was nothing to see. Literally. Wherever they were, the room was nothing but a solid mass of black.

They stopped again none too gently. A brief flash of white light broke the monotony of darkness; a force field was let down. Many hands took hold of Flamewar and swung her down, restraining her frame was the stasis cuffs were removed. She erupted like a beast as motor control returned. She managed to ram her foot into someone's arm, dislocating the limb from the socket, before she was swung up again and thrown into the open cell.

Dust and grime and a thousand others things she couldn't see rose in the crash, clogging her vents. She snarled, twisted to her feet, and charged the specks of light that served as the drones' optics. The force field went up before she could reach them, too quickly for her to stop her momentum. She hit the field full force with a fury. The instantaneous feeling of white-hot agony shot through her neural circuits. A feedback loop from the impact rebound her to the opposite wall. She fell with a clatter and was left to spasm on the floor as the drones walked away.

In the wake of their departure, as soon as she got her heaving vents under control, Flamewar was aware of another noise in her cell that was not of her own making. It was a soft shuffling noise. While distant when she first noticed it, the source grew steadily closer. Though not directly threatening, it was a clumsy and morose noise that nonetheless made Flamewar wary. Nothing in this house of horrors was to be trusted.

"_Who's there?!"_ the femme demanded, swinging to her feet to assume a fight-ready stance. It took a moment of raking the dark to see the lights at first, but when she realized she no longer heard shuffling, she realized that there were two white pinpricks hovering in front of her. Her shock caused her to recoil, tripping over the debris on the floor. Her optics shuttered automatically, exposing Flamewar to the brutal flames that marked the demon-ship as a damned one. Within the flames she spotted a sorry creature broken down to nothing but her bolts and wire. It looked half dead already.

What was most curious about the creature was that it looked at Flamewar as if she were the one to be more pitied.

Snapping her optics open to the blank slate of darkness, the Decepticon swung to her feet and assumed another fight-ready stance.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

Her companion canted its head, made obvious by the tilt of its glowing optics, pondered the question for a moment, and then softly answered, "I am Elita One."

Flamewar paused, shuttering her optics in a quick succession to get a better impression of the other bot; the frame was femme height, and vaguely of femme build. Even the voice, though distorted, was familiar.

When Flamewar said nothing, Elita took the initiative to speak freely. "I'm sorry you ended up here. This place… is not a good place to be."

"I can tell that for myself, thanks," Flamewar grunted. "Are you really Elita One?"

"I am... or at least I'm pretty sure I am," sighed the femme, shaking her head. "If I knew you once, I'm sorry again for not remembering. I've been here for quite a while, you see. Everything is a blur right now..."

"Primus…" Flamewar found her arms dropping to her sides, her back hitting the cold wall behind her. _This_ is what had become of Elita One of the Autobots? She might not have been the greatest fighter Flamewar had ever faced, but Elita had had a great and terrible mind when it came to choreographing raids and battle plans. The two femme commanders had had a cold respect for each other that most Decepticons and Autobots lacked for their counterparts.

Elita sighed again. "I haven't even asked your designation," she said with sorry self-admonishment. "That's one of the things that's hardest to remember; so many bots come through here, but they all become numbers…You don't get many chances to ask for a designation."

"Elita, I'm Flamewar," Flamewar cut in, afraid that the other femme would lose herself in her own mind if she was allowed to ramble for too long. "You knew me. We've fought several times."

"_Flamewar_," Elita repeated, testing the designation. "It sounds familiar, but I can't place from where. Sorry."

"No, that's… alright. Let it go. You've been through enough as it is." She couldn't think of anything else to say. There was no honour or satisfaction in starting a fight with Elita here; the femme was barely standing up as it was, and to waste energy on something so petty would be stupid. Instead, Flamewar slid to the floor and drew her knees up to her chest. She could feel her spark wither and writhe as it suffered separation from Barricade, but she didn't dare give into the pain. She couldn't afford to. She was stronger than that.

Elita slid to the floor next to Flamewar, carefully examining the ruby-red optics floating in the dark. "How did you get here?" she wondered softly.

"Megatron… came back," Flamewar replied tightly. "We thought he was dead, but then Virus interfaced with him, and then- I don't know, he sucked her dry. I don't even think it was really Megatron. It had to be something else. It didn't matter what we threw at him, he wouldn't go down. And now I'm here- wherever _here_ is."

"You're inside the Fallen," Elita supplied sadly. "Everything you knew about that old legend-," which wasn't much for Flamewar, who hadn't known much beyond the city-centre and territory of Kaon before the war, "-is true. You're inside a monster. Shockwave uses this place for his experiments, but the ship itself- it just likes to hurt people."

"He's not going to hurt me," Flamewar declared. "I won't be here long enough to let him."

Elita blinked curiously. "Oh?"

Flamewar snorted, mouthplates curling. "I'm either going to figure out how to break the frag out of here, or the others are going to come for me. Barricade won't leave me up here; he'll do whatever it takes, even if he has to go to Optimus Prime for help."

Elita's optics flashed bright. "Did you just say Optimus? Optimus Prime?"

"Yeah." Flamewar blinked, realizing exactly who she was talking to; Elita One was bonded to Optimus Prime. How could she have forgotten? "You didn't know he was so close, did you?"

There was new light in Elita's optics as the funny and long-forgotten sensation of hope hit her. "No, how could I? I've been trapped in here for so long… I've felt him, but I thought- well, I didn't know. Is he close? How close?"

"We're hovering right above Earth," Flamewar said. "Barely outside the atmosphere."

"Hovering right above…" Elita fell back, dazed. "He's that close? He's so close!"

"He doesn't know you're up here," Flamewar intoned. "If he did, I doubt he would have wasted so much time doing nothing."

Two hands shot out and grasped Flamewar's.

"I have to tell him," Elita exclaimed breathlessly, sounding madly lost in the sudden tide of hope that flooded her. Her audios were ringing with voices and the loud rushing of her spark and energon. She didn't care what she had to do or how hard she had to resist the Fallen to do it, _"I have to tell Optimus I'm here."_


	50. Join the Darksyde

So excited. The climax approaches. ^_^

**CuteKitten**- That's the great thing about coincidences, my dear; everybody wants to take credit for them! XD Sunstorm will most definitely be taking credit for bringing Starscream back, much to Acidstorm's annoyance. =P As for Megatron... no, he isn't himself anymore. He hasn't been himself for a long time... *shivers*

**KyuubiSango**- Psi's master is rather larger than life. =P If a creature like the Fallen has something to fear, than us mere mortals should be scared out of our wits. O,O And as for Elita One- we shall be seeing more of her in the future~ =)

**Dramastar-Mel**- I'm really glad that you enjoy my take on the Decepticons as being more than just bad guys. =D The whole WE verse is all about everyone's individual stories; when you see the world through "enemy" eyes, you suddenly find that you have more in common with them than you thought. As for Elita One- that femme with a little bit of hope is a very potent thing. ^_^

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- Glad you picked up on "the end is nigh" quote; it was intentional foreshadowing to the end of this fic. =D Sorry about the confusion surrounding Shockwave's mission; one of his proposed methods for creating new sparks is attempting to divide an existing one, but he's only succeeded in creating failures, such as the poorly divided kremzeeks and energy leeches. . That section of the chapter has been rewritten and is hopefully more coherent. ^^;

**Chloo**- It's crazy how close you are to the truth, yet at the same time you are so very far away! XD I keep reading your review over and over, loving every minute of your theories and guesses. Like I said, so close and yet so far! I wish I could tell you what's in store for the future, but I don't want to ruin the surprise. =P And you know what? You caught the Easter egg I hid in the chapter, too! =D You're bang on with the bartender, which means this chapter right now is dedicated to you for your sharp eyes, brilliant mind, and dedicated investment to the storyline! *cheers*

**Flameshield**- Yeah, we haven't heard from the Seekers, so I figured a little update was in order =P Flamewar's pain upon separation isn't necessarily the condition Optimus/Elita & Ironhide/Chromia have suffered. Her sparkbond to Barricade is much like getting fresh stitches, and being separated from each other so soon after bonding is very similar to having that fresh wound ripped open again. Bots with older bonds suffering chronic separation is like... severe arthritis that gets into your bones and soul, making it difficult to even move without pain. Neither are pleasant feelings at all. .

**Bluebird Soaring**- Writing for the Seekers was a lot of fun; there's been so much death and angst throughout this story that a little levity and hope was a relief. I'm glad you enjoyed their portrayal. =) Happy dance for Elita One all you want, my friend. The end is truly nigh, and with it may come her salvation... or her damnation.

**Lecidre**- Awww, it's so wonderful to hear that you enjoyed the Seekers of the last chapter! 8D You're right about Starscream being out of commission for nearly 50 chapters- it was about time that he finally woke up! XD If the scenes with super-zombie!Megatron have been freaking you out so far, you're in for trip... He's not going anywhere anytime soon, nor are any of the monsters he has on his side. ^^; I'm glad you think I have talent for writing horror, but I hope I don't scare you away! There's so much more of the story to be told! =D

**Balrog Rioke**- Without Megatron to wear around like a suit, he'd be naked! XD Hopefully the 'Bots and 'Cons can get it together long enough to figure out that teaming up is their only hope! O,O As for Starscream's piece in this puzzle... you'll find out soon enough what his investment in the game is. ^_^

**Litahatchee**- OMG! Look at that review! You superwoman! I cried when I saw it, it was that beautiful! *fawns over it* Thank god it's not just me who enjoys my dark humour; it's practically a staple for this series! XD This story would be in a rather sticky spot if people didn't like laughing at sarcasm and rather uncomfortable things... ^^; Which means, of course, that I'm doubly glad for friends like you who can put up with the humour in and out of the story: you're a double whammy of awesomeness =P And I want to thank you so much for pointing out those spelling mistakes- I fixed them up right away. This is a story full of mortal errors, so why not spelling errors as well? XD

**FunkyFish1991**- I'll tell you a secret, my dearest Fishy friend... You're the best! XD To be perfectly honest, when you started making comparisons between my writing and his, you gave me goosebumps. I haven't had the chance to read _Paradise Los_t yet, so I don't know Milton's writing style, but seeing such close comparisons gave me chills. I may not have read it, but _Paradise Lost_ has served as a great inspiration for my writing, especially Lucifer's character. And after all that incredible flattery concerning me and Milton, you ruined it with your new introduction, albeit I laughed. And then you ruined it further with the poke-Shockwave-in-the-eye thing, although I won't deny how epic your rendition of the scene is. XD I can't tell you how much I get a kick out of you paraphrasing like that! XD Oh, and before I forget, you found the Easter Egg! *cheers* I was wondering if you understood what _Mac's_ was referring to; slipping that in there was wayyyy too much fun! XD

This chapter is dedicated to **FunkyFish1991** and **Chloo**, because they found the Easter egg in the last chapter! XD

Usual shout outs of inspiration to my peeps- **FunkyFish1991, Litahatchee, Lecidre,** and **Violetlight.**

_Bumblebee's time frame_- According to the Transformers '07 prequel comic, BB's been on Earth since 2003 doing reconnaissance. The current time frame of _As We Come Together_ is 2008.

**As We Come Together  
In Which the Autobots Join the **_**Darksyde**_

"_What's taking so long?"_ Sideswipe snarled, far from being his jovial self. "Hurry up! He can't take much more!"

"Data compression takes time," Soundwave countered darkly. His fingers flew like a blur across the keypad of the machine hooked up to a mangled wreck of a processor that appeared to have been ripped from someone's head.

"We don't have time!" snapped the Autobot. He spasmed as a fresh wave hit him; not of agony from the wound left by his severed arm, but an even more personal form of pain. He cast his optics to the writhing frame curled in his lap, convulsing in silent fits as he clutched at his chest. Sunstreaker could only dare crack his optics open for a brief moment, meeting Sideswipe's gaze with a look that appeared to be an attempt at reassurance, but fell away as he curled over on himself again. He was in an agony that went beyond physical torture, being attacked from the inside out.

"He can't take much more! And neither can I!" Sideswipe howled.

"There's a lot of damage to her processor," Soundwave intoned darkly as he rapidly reviewed the numerical sequences shooting by on the screen. "The rust deteriorated portions of her processor before Sunstreaker ripped it out; there's a chance that it's gotten to her core programming-"

"Don't care!" Sunstreaker suddenly howled.

"You have to hold on for a little longer; as soon as her processor is stabilized, I can make the transfer," Soundwave urged. Though his movements were as sure as always, his faceplate betrayed the grim torture that he was suffering under. His spark was in agony of a different kind.

Sunstreaker nodded, something like a sob escaping him as he panted. "Just hurry."

"I'm doing all that I can."

Sideswipe lurched down with an effort, wrapping his energon-spattered arm over his brother. "Just hold on a little longer," he begged, squeezing his twin with his one arm. Everything else was turning to a blur the longer he suffered the dregs of his brother's condition. He burned from the inside out; Sunstreaker was screaming loud and clear in his head. His spark felt seared to the core, so white hot with an outrage that went beyond conscious comprehension. His vocal processor felt clumsy as he tried to speak again- "You can do it, Sunny. Just a little longer."

Sunstreaker couldn't summon anymore words for a reply- the noise that did escape him was a long, low groan that ended on a retch. The hydraulics in his jaw locked tight, mouthplates grinding together so viciously that he wore the outer polish off. He was coming apart at the seams, literally and figuratively. Being thrown into a wall with several tons of Decepticon carcass collapsing on him had done nothing for his mending armour. Welds that were only a few Earth-days old cracked open. Donated plating that had never fit well in the first place was now hanging on by only a miracle. Everything in his chest had turned too tight; every pulse of his spark burned hotter against the insides of his sparkcase as it revolted against the intruder. He could hear the pulsing of energon his audios, feel the pounding beat in his head like the smashing of a drum. Warning signs blared in his vision as energy and stress levels shot beyond their maximum capacity.

No frame was designed to carry two sparks at once. Especially when one spark was hellbent on causing as much havoc as it possibly could.

Every time she collided with his spark or banged into the sides of his sparkcase, she connected to the energy interface that connected his spark to his frame. He could _hear_ her voice in his head. It was mostly hissing, sometimes screaming. The words were mostly gibberish, either because the connection between spark and frame was not complete, or because he himself was too far gone to understand much of anything at that moment. The few words he had caught were mostly cursing and Megatron. What he felt from her was swells of panic and rage; she couldn't understand where she was, what had happened to her frame, why she couldn't move. As confused as she was, her spark was attacking anything within range, which left Sunstreaker's spark open for the brunt of it. For once in his life, he didn't dare defend himself.

The cargo bay lurched to the side as the _Darksyde_ hit turbulence. Trojan and Worm automatically reached for the equipment that slid away, dragging it back for Soundwave.

"_We got humans on our afts,_" Rumble announced over the comms as he and the other symbiotes struggled to fly the ship. _"F-22's, and they sure ain't the smart kind."_

"_They've asked us to land or they fire," _intoned Ravage. _"They've already given us a warning shot. Our shields will hold, but they're not likely to let up." _

"_More are coming. It's all over their communications; all military bases are reacting," _Laserbeak warned. _"We're only over the Wisconsin state; we still have half the country to fly over until we get to Nevada. They'll be all over us before then." _

"_Ya want us to shoot 'em down, boss?" _Rumble asked, sounding a little too eager for the target practise.

Soundwave made a noise that was very much like a snarl. He took a deep drag of air in order to rein himself in. "We shouldn't kill them. Send out an EMP blast to short out their on-board computers; the humans be able to eject without harm. Continue to do so for any aircrafts trying to engage us. Take us up higher into the atmosphere and engage thrusters to 30 percent. They won't be able to keep up."

"_Yes, sir!" _crowed the symbiotes, cutting away to employ Soundwave's orders.

Not even an astrosecond later, several muted discharges announced the firing of the ordered EMPs. If their human pursuers had any smarts in them, they'd let that be an example of what would become of them if they tried anything else incredibly stupid. The _Darksyde_ might have been a flying pile of trash by Cybertronian standards, but it was still lightyears ahead of anything Earth had yet to come up with.

"Think that will get them to lay off?" Sideswipe asked through a clenched jaw, trying for one of his classic cocky smirks. It looked more like a strained grimace. He didn't have enough experience with humans as a whole to make any generalities about the species.

Soundwave growled grimly. "No, they're a stubborn species, perhaps even more so than our own. More will come, and they have been known to overwhelm us with sheer numbers."

Sunstreaker snarled viciously. It was hard to tell if he was responding to the threat of the humans or if he was suffering through a fresh attack on his spark. Judging by Sideswipe's mirrored reaction, Sunstreaker was merely suffering from his current condition. As soon as it passed, Sideswipe glared up at Soundwave.

"Thin the herd a little if you have to," he snapped, sounding borderline feral.

Soundwave regarded him severely for a moment before he was forced to return his attention to the data compression machine as it finished compressing one processor and was preparing to transfer the information to the new one. As he worked, he said, "You are not in your right mind at the moment. I am sure you will feel differently in a moment."

Worm nodded gently, and for simplicity's sake he signed a brief message for the Autobot. "We're out in the open like this; we are already being recorded on several news channels. Optimus Prime and the others will see us soon enough and will be able to contact the human military to call them off."

Sideswipe snorted, not in the mood to be soothed by anything.

The data compression computer gave a muted bleat, summoning Soundwave's undivided attention. He typed at the keypad for several long moments, followed by a heavy sigh. "That's the best I can do for her. We will have to hope for the best." He beckoned to the twins. "She can be placed in the sparkcase now."

Trojan and Worm were required to help Sunstreaker up. Sideswipe stuck close, but couldn't help as much as he wanted to with only one arm and about as much strength as a newborn kitten. Sunstreaker was quickly laid on floor beneath the makeshift berth carrying Moonfly's tiny frame. He was held down by his shoulders and legs so that he wouldn't convulse during the process. He appeared to come to his senses for a brief moment as his gaze met Soundwave's just as the larger mech knelt over him.

"T-take her," sputtered the warrior as his chest cracked open. Once again, they were assaulted by his spark's unusual brightness, this time added by a second presence. The second spark sensed freedom and bolted from the sparkcase, only to land in Soundwave's outstretched hand. Like a tension wire that had finally snapped, Sunstreaker jerked rigid before falling limp.

Worm made a grunting sound, looking to Soundwave enquiringly.

"No," responded Soundwave. "The spark won't have to be compressed. It was compacted enough by the pressure of sharing Sunstreaker's sparkcase." He moved over Virus's new frame, gently tilting his cupped hand into the tiny, dark void gaping in the frame's chest. Her spark fluttered gently, as if recognizing the frame being presented to it. With little hesitation, it slid home.

Life came into the frame instantaneously. Her sparkcase snapped shut, chassis expanding as a deep drag of air cycled through her vents to clear dust. Whereas her spark had been a raging ball of energy, once the essence was contained, the fight seemed to drain out of her. With a groan, she rolled over on to her front and rose on all fours like she was still a quadruped. She rocked back and forth like that, wobbling until weakness and disorientation caused her to fall to her side. This was followed by a long period of laying motionless like a doll as she stared dead ahead.

Sunstreaker, with generous help from Trojan, levered himself to his feet. "How is she? Is she alright?" he demanded, taking stock of the tiny familiar form laying on the berth. Sideswipe stumbled over, peering over Sunstreaker's shoulder to get a good look at the main attraction of the show.

"Why isn't she moving?" asked the red mech worriedly. "Did something go wrong?"

"It appears the damages to her processor were as severe as I feared," Soundwave said grimly.

"No, they're not," Virus suddenly replied, causing everyone to jump. "I can move, it's just taking me a little while to realign my sensors." Her voice had changed from its ravaged timbre to the quietly morose melody that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe recognized as the true Moonfly. She continued to lay motionless, frowning ever so slightly. "What happened to my other frame?"

"It was destroyed," Soundwave replied. "There is no hope of recovering it."

"That' s unfortunate." Virus flopped onto her other side, taking note of the large pile of useless rust laying not far from her on a separate berth. She was going to miss that frame. "How did I make it into this frame?"

Sunstreaker coughed, leaning over the beetle-green bot. She was exactly as he remembered her, even though her back was to him; small and thin, a medical-class drone with a spark. He reached out to touch her, but jerked back at the last moment. It was harder to deny the past when it was sitting so close. Eventually, he was able to murmur, "I kept your spark alive in my sparkcase."

"Who-? ...you what?" Virus questioned confusedly; try as she might, she was having a horrible time trying to put a designation to that voice. Setting aside the confusion, she asked, "How?"

"We're freaks of nature," Sideswipe shrugged offhandedly.

"Their unusual physiology made it possible," Soundwave better elaborated. "It appears that they lack the capability of bonding with others, sparing you any unfortunate consequences of the debacle. And, luckily for you, they also lack the rejection complex that most sparkmates have to outside forces."

Virus narrowed her optics. "I think I remember something about that... I'm not sure." She shook her head. "I'm useless like this. Give me a moment to run some diagnostics..." She was quiet again, remaining limp where she lay. A moment later, she began to reel off her status: "Core programming is mostly intact, but- ah... You needn't worry about my loyalty programming; it's been corrupted. I can't access it anymore."

"Nonetheless, it will need to be removed later. So long as you possess it, it will continue to be a threat," Soundwave pressed.

"...yes. Deleting it would be for the best," sighed the small green bot. Without that aspect of her core programming operative, it was amazing how clearly she could think, regardless of how disorientated she currently was. "Personality subroutines are operating. Programmed and acquired skills are relatively unscathed... I have most of my memories, as well. They're scattered, though. Someone will have to help me reorder them later."

"Is there anything irreparably damaged?" Soundwave enquired.

"Everything damaged is replaceable." She sat up with a great amount of difficulty, forced to lean forward and splay her weight on her hands in order to stay upright. "I don't have any visual recognition subroutines... It's an inconvenience. If it wasn't for my spark scanner, I wouldn't be able to tell any of you apart." She cast them all a dull look. "I can't even put designations to faceplates right now."

"I will repair the subroutine later," Soundwave intoned. "We have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."

Virus put a hand to the side of her head, trying to straighten out as much of her scrambled thoughts as she could. "Something about Megatron, wasn't it? Something went... wrong?"

Soundwave's faceplate noticeably darkened. "Yes."

Virus's frowned. "I can't remember- is he dead or alive?"

"He was dead," Soundwave growled. "He's not anymore."

"That's... unusual." She stuck out a hand with the expectation that either Trojan or Worm would help her to her feet, but someone else got there first. A damaged hand slipped under her own and lifted her to her feet. She was then allowed to lean on the appendage as she adapted to her newfound bipedalism. When she was steady, she looked to the faceplate of her helper; her optics told her it was squirrel, while her resonance scanner said it was... half a spark? The twin that had helped her before, presumably. Despite her processor telling her he was a squirrel, he was a rather handsome squirrel at that. "Which twin are you?"

"Sunstreaker," said the mech.

"Oh." For some reason, the designation resonated in her. Her spark knew it, while her mind... didn't quite get it yet. She blinked, canted her head, and then shrugged it off. "I can't seem to find any memory files on you," she announced. "We will have to discuss it later." She craned her neck to regard Soundwave. "Where is Flamewar and Nightshade?" She paused, optic ridges knitting together. "Those are their designations, right?"

Sunstreaker froze, surprised to find that his spark had sunk a little in knowing that Moonfly had forgotten all about him. Perhaps not permanently forgotten, but at least for the time being. Her bare dismissal stung as well. Worm offered to take his place supporting Virus when the other mech noticed his sudden distraction. Sideswipe wisely manoeuvred his brother to the side, away from the newly-reformatted femme.

Soundwave's visor dimmed, his fists clenching. His voice trembled minutely as he said, "Nightshade has been... terminated."

"I am sorry for your loss." Virus's mouthplates drew into a thin line. "What of Flamewar?"

"Taken."

Virus's beady optics narrowed further. "What are we doing in retaliation?"

"Currently, we are en route to the Autobot base to seek assistance. On our own, we do not have the firepower to engage the enemy. Hopefully the Autobots will see it fit to aid us in this."

The comms crackled again, followed by Rumble's voice announcing, "_The little flesh bags have finally called off their offensive, but they're still going ta follow us ta Nevada._"

"That's fine. Don't provoke them," Soundwave warned. "I will be to the bridge shortly."

"_How's Virus? She make it?"_

"I'm functional," Virus stated dryly. "Don't crash my ship."

"_Aye aye, captain,"_ Rumble crowed before signing off.

Sideswipe's hold on Sunstreaker's forearm tightened, tugging him toward the exit of the hangar. Sunstreaker resisted, tugging back stubbornly.

"Where are we going?" hissed the golden mech.

Sideswipe shook his head. "We both need a walk, bro. After what you just put us through, we _so_ need a walk." To the Decepticons, he nodded and said, "We're going to go check on Barricade- see how he's holding up. Let us know when we arrive; we'll disembark with you."

"Be careful. Barricade will not be himself," Trojan signed warningly. "If he becomes too much to handle, call and one of us will come."

"Will do," the red Autobot assured. The twins turned together to leave on their pseudo-mission.

"Wait," Virus called, stumbling away from Worm's hand to the edge of the tray she stood on. She offered her hand, palm up, to Sunstreaker. _"_You saved my life. _Thank you."_

Startled, Sunstreaker stared at the offered hand before stretching out his own to lay his clawed fingertips in that very small palm. "You're welcome."

* * *

The whole base was in an uproar.

Humans ran in every direction, trying to get a handle on exactly what was happening. Every minuted seemed to bring another human-instrumented apocalyptic incident crashing down at their feet. Every Cybertronian with half a byte of sense had escaped outside, desperately trying to get away from the scrambling organics under their feet. In attempts to be doing something useful, the Autobots took it onto themselves to comb the skies looking for the first signs of the _Darksyde_ approaching. Not that the Autobots were getting off easy with their escape. Each suffered their own headache as communications from around the globe streamlined into their heads. It was nearly impossible trying to keep up with the spreading hysteria hitting the human populace.

Faster than what Blaster could keep up with alone, videos of the flaming mass in the sky above the Canadian eastern coast were spreading like wildfire. The _Darksyde_'s underbelly was being exclaimed over and gaped at on nearly every human channel imaginable. The news coverage was only made more sensationalized every time a jet got too close to the ship and was immobilized by an EMP blast, forcing the pilot to eject before they crashed. Even if it was only self-defence, all the humans could see was some of their greatest flying weapons being plucked out of the sky like they were nothing.

The _Darksyde_ had made it over the Great Lakes by the time it rose high enough into the atmosphere to avoid confrontation with the jets. It picked up its pace as well, but little good that would do it when every eye in the world was now watching for it.

The whole event had effectively snowballed after the incident caught international attention, which had been about ten minutes after the flaming presence in the sky appeared and five minutes after the _Darksyde_ powered up and took to the sky. None were sure what they were looking at; alien, terrorist, or the latest military development the United States' government had conveniently forgot mention. The _Darksyde_ was bigger than anything Earthlings had yet to develop for the sky, larger an even an aircraft carrier. It was definitely threatening looking. And it sure was the _ugliest_ piece of flying technology Earth had ever laid eyes on. The more that the press reported on it, the more panic they were able to instill in the public at large.

Of course, the moment Secretary Keller got a gander of the Decepticons on the morning news, he'd instantly put in a call to Captain William Lennox. Will had been made deaf in his right ear by violence of the demands Keller was making; W_ho the hell did those aliens think they were? What the hell were they doing in the air in plain sight? How the hell was the military supposed to react to them?_ The good captain had passed his superior off to Optimus Prime, who had been forced to calm the human down and painfully explain that he had as much knowledge about what was going on that Keller did. This is not put the Secretary of Defence at ease. Their exchange had quickly turned into an international teleconference when several more countries started calling in demanding to know what was going on and if they had to bring their own military powers into the picture.

The _Darksyde_ had made it into Nebraskan airspace by the time Optimus successfully managed to explain to all international parties involved that the Decepticons were neutral now. They (hopefully) had a very good reason for their actions. If they had meant serious harm to anyone, the east coast of North America wouldn't exist anymore.

The _Darksyde_ had made it all the way into the state of Colorado by the time Optimus managed to dissuade the American government from launching a full-scale attack on their own soil. Sadly, when the F-22s and all other accompanying aircrafts fell into a non-offencive flanking formation without warning, some uninformed humans took it as a sign of surrender to the UFO. Continued silence on the government's part did not aid the growing public hysteria.

It was worse on the internet. Like a virus, once a video appeared, it quickly infected all else around it, multiplying to the power of ten. YouTube and every other video clip site was being swamped by video after viral video of the _Darksyde_. Facebook was clogged with humans exclaiming in capitalized letters that a large black ship like nothing they had ever seen before just flew over their house. Twitter was hit with a deluge of panicked tweets. Maggie, Glen, and every other active human in the know about the Cybertronians and savvy enough to shut down a website had their hands full doing battle with the entire virtual world.

Now, only a mere few hours since the _Darksyde_ first took to the sky, Earth was in the grips of one of its most spectacular panic attacks ever.

Simmons, of all the sentient beings present in the Nevadan desert, was currently taking the new rather... well.

"My life is over," the agent stated matter-of-factly next to Optimus's right foot.

"Shut up, Simmons," Will groaned, scrubbing a tired hand across his face.

"Bite me, captain," Simmons replied. "Everything I have ever worked for; every cover-up I have ever conducted: all for nothing. _Nothing. _Do you have any idea what that feels like?"

"I'm beginning to," Will growled dryly_. _

Simmons huffed. "Governments have been covering up the existence of aliens for generations! All that work! _Ruined_ when some of your kind-" he pointed at the flame-painted semi accusingly, "-decide to take a joyride over my country. Now my planet is going to hell in a hand-basket._" _He glared up at Prime through a pair of pitch-black sunglasses. "Thank you, you useless robot."

"This is no time for histrionics, Agent Simmons," Optimus chided grimly.

"I am being completely level-headed right now, Prime. One hundred percent serious," replied the agent. "Seriously. This is great. Thanks."

"Lay off, Simmons," Will ordered tensely. "This isn't his fault."

"No, I _know _that," snapped Simmons "He's just the one I'm blaming right now until those Decepti-morons show up."

"I am sure the Decepticon-Neutrals have a good explanation for this. They wouldn't risk their personal privacy like this unless it was for something important," Prime intoned as he continued to scan the clear skies. He raised his hand to his audio as a transmission came in from Bumblebee.

"_**I've spotted them, Prime; at their current speed, they'll be over the base shortly. Do you want me to hail them?" **_

"**Yes. Ask them to coordinate with Blaster for the landing site we've selected for them,"** Optimus ordered gravely. **"I will alert the other Autobots to meet them there." ** Cutting out of the transmission, he quickly relayed the appropriate message to the rest of the Autobots. Once done, he transformed, startling his human company with the sudden shift.

"Something come up?" Will asked warily.

"The _Darksyde_ is within range," Optimus announced. "The Autobots and I are going to meet it at the landing site. You and Simmons return to base."

Will looked disgruntled with the order, while Simmons looked downright mutinous.

"Don't you think we should come along just in case?" offered the captain.

"No. I feel that this is something that should be kept within our species," Optimus replied. "However, if something should go wrong, can I rely on you and the other humans for backup?"

Will gave a determined nod. "At the first sign of trouble, we'll be there."

"Whether or not we'll be any use is still up for debate, though," Simmons huffed as he was bullied back toward their waiting truck. Leaning out the window, he tipped his sunglasses down and gave Optimus a good, long look. "This is already an international heyday; _try_ not to make it an interplanetary one."

"At this point in time, I can make no promises," Prime replied ominously.

* * *

With their secret essentially outed to the people of Earth, and the people of Earth not exactly taking it too well, the Autobots were collectively simmering in foul moods. Some were on fouler moods than others.

"What do you want to bet the 'Cons have nothing good to say?" Ironhide growled as he glared at the great ship approaching. The Darksyde wasn't easy to miss; a giant floating stain of black and rust in the sky growing larger with each passing astrosecond.

Chromia elbowed her mate. "Mute it, Hide. This could be important."

"I never said it wasn't _important,_ I said it probably wasn't _good,_" Ironhide rumbled, rubbing his abused side.

Ratchet harrumphed, his steely gaze flashing under the blaze of the afternoon sun. "No, I wouldn't think they're bringing any good news. Anything that facilitates the need to traumatize an entire planet in less than a day generally does not bode well."

"No, but it's probably a new record for our species," Wheeljack piped in, much to his fellow Autobots' consternation.

"We couldn't possibly have made a worst first impression on the humans even if we _tried_," Bumblebee lamented. "I've been on this planet for five years with not one incident, and the Decepticons go and ruin it in less than a joor!"

"We'll probably get our eviction notice from the planet by tomorrow," Smokescreen snorted.

"But Earth's our home now, too... we can't just get _evicted_, can we?" Bluestreak asked worriedly.

"If they don't evict us, they'll probably try ta catch us ta dissect us like they did ta Megatron an' Bumblebee," Jazz cut in scathingly. Bumblebee twittered nervously, while Bluestreak squeaked fearfully. The moods of the older Autobots darkened considerably.

"It won't come to any of that," Optimus interjected pointedly, bringing an end to the list of morbid possibilities. There was no point in dwelling on things that might never come to pass.

The _Darksyde_'s descendant onto the desert plains stirred up great gushes of hot air and fits of rough red dust. Clouds of debris were thrown into whirling dervishes, clogging the air and blocking out the remaining light. The gathered Autobots were forced to retreat farther back lest they wish to have their paint sandblasted off their hides. Some protected their faceplates by engaging their battlemasks, while others hid behind their forearms or retractable shields. Blaster, who had hitched a ride with Trailbreaker to the landing site, pulled out a large umbrella from subspace and crouched behind it.

With its landing struts engaged, the _Darksyde_ touched down with a terrible groan. Hydraulics moaned, pistons hissed, and several sheets of outer-hull cracked loudly. Over the deafening noise of the ship settling, its human company screamed overhead in tight formation. It did not appear likely that the humans would simply back off, which only served to irk the Cybertronians. This was no places for their human hosts right now.

Blaster harrumphed, his antennae rearranging atop his head. In the next moment, the crowd of jets were circling around and heading away to the nearby base. When someone cast the microbot an enquiring stare, he shrugged. "We're already in deep slag- I figure impersonating a couple of human officials is the least of our problems."

A hatch along the side of the ship cracked open, a ramp descending. The first to appear in the hatchway were the twins. They surveyed their comrades carefully, cast each other a glance, and then nodded an affirmative to the bots waiting behind them. The message was clear: they had been making sure no one was going to shoot down their Decepticon friends point-blank.

They didn't even make it to the bottom of the ramp before Ratchet exclaimed, _"What the pit happened to you?" _

Sideswipe gripped his right shoulder where free hanging wires sparked pitifully. His optics were cool, keeping the medic at bay with a harsh stare. "No one stays dead on this Primus-damned planet," he announced. "No one fragging _stays dead_."

"But your arm! Where is it?" the medic crowed, as if the red mech had simply misplaced it somewhere. "Primus, your shoulder's still leaking! Look at the mess!"

"Nah, Ratchet, it's just happy to see you," Sideswipe replied with a borderline sneer. When Ratchet refused to back down, his obvious and sincere concern firmly fixed upon the twins, Sideswipe's spiteful attitude wavered. Finally his expression dissolved into one of tired relief. "I'm kinda happy, too, you know? You always know how to clean up my messes."

Ratchet paused, and then shook his head. "You've given me plenty of practise."

And just like that, all the bad air between the twins and their favourite medic cleared.

Sideswipe suddenly grinned, using Sunstreaker as his prop as he exaggerated his condition. His neural net was shut down, so it wasn't like he was suffering too greatly. "Now you can fawn over me like my delicate self deserves, Ratch'. I'm all yours for the pampering, just how you like it."

"I see the energon loss has gone to your head," Ratchet sighed, though smirking nonetheless. "We'll see if I can't get those energon lines sutured, and then I'm going to get a closer look at _you_." He nodded adamantly to Sunstreaker, who looked in less-than-stellar condition. Sunstreaker was just as relieved as his brother to be once again under the care of Ratchet, though he was less theatric about it. His small smile was enough. Without further adieu, Ratchet trotted up the ramp to assist the twins down, whilst imparting upon them a healthy scolding about losing their limbs in battle. It was almost an endearing sight to see the trio squabbling again. The Autobots simply weren't the Autobots without it. Unfortunately, the grimness of the situation came to the forefront as the procession down the ramp continued.

Trojan and Worm followed behind the twins, clearly displeased to be among the Autobots again. Ridding on their shoulders was an unfamiliar beetle-green creature. Upon closer inspection, her spark resonance revealed her to be a downsized version of Virus. She stared with a neutral faceplate and dull optics. Behind them came Soundwave with Barricade solemnly pacing at his side. The sybiotes were tucked away in their compartments for the sake of the meeting. Soundwave looked graver than usual as he regarded the gathering. Barricade, though solemn, appeared to be fighting against a rage of internal violence.

The absence of the femmes Flamewar and Nightshade was immediately noted.

As per the usual greetings between leaders, Optimus came forward with his hand outstretched to touch Soundwave's in greeting. He also offered the gesture to Virus in goodwill, though she only stared at the hand and requested to know who he was. Soundwave wisely informed the Autobots of the mercenary's temporary handicap, warning them not to take it lightly. Virus was still capable of infecting them, she just wouldn't know _who_ she was infecting. Optimus still offered his hand nonetheless to the femme, and once she knew who he was, she reluctantly placed her fingertips on the end of one of his fingers in greeting.

Once formalities were addressed, Optimus turned so that he no longer stood as a divide between his Autobots and the newly arrived Decepticons.

"I think everyone is wondering the same question," Optimus said. "Why are you here?"

Soundwave carefully regarded the gathered Autobots, all of whom had once been his enemies not long ago. He shifted his gaze to meet Optimus's grave stare, and with a voice that contained all the gravity of the situation, he said, "We need your help."

Taken aback for a moment by the honest plea of the words, Optimus gaped for a moment before recovering. "What happened?"

Ratchet finished his quick cauterizing job on Sideswipe's shoulder; he knew the telling signs of an attack. He directed his gaze to Soundwave. "Who attacked you?"

"Megatron," Soundwave replied darkly.

"That's not possible," Optimus said.

"I'd bet my right arm on it, Prime. Oh wait, I can't. Megatron destroyed it." Sideswipe intoned bitterly.

"Megatron's dead," Prime insisted, voicing the thoughts of most present.

"He _was_ dead," Sunstreaker corrected grimly.

Barricade snarled when Optimus continued to look sceptical. "You think we're crazy? He took Flamewar! He killed Nightshade! That's not something we'd fragging make up!"

Prowl became the voice of reason as he said, "We must keep in mind that resurrections are not out of the realm of possibility anymore. If Jazz could be brought back, the same could apply to Megatron."

Jazz sneered, clearly not in favour of being lumped in with Megatron.

Perceptor stepped up amongst his towering brethren, peering up at the Decepticons enquiringly. "Perhaps you should explain your situation from the very beginning, starting with why you would think Megatron's corpse attacked you and then explain why you would come here to seek our assistance in the matter. I think a thorough and objective analysis of the events that have brought you here would help everyone's understanding greatly. After that, we shall worry about our current standing on Earth."

"Yes, that would be best," Soundwave conceded.

Instead of having more than two dozen Cybertronians standing around in the middle of the desert, they employed an informality that felt entirely incongruous with their dire situation and the company they were with: they all sat down. Some reverted to their alt modes for comfort, their shocks and rubber wheels acting as a cushion against the hard-packed ground. Soundwave and Optimus shared the ramp. Barricade was the only one who refused to sit, instead moving to the edges of the crowd to pace agitatedly.

"We don't have time for this!" he spat, glaring viciously. "We should be up there right now!" He whipped his hand to the sky obscured by the _Darksyde_. "That thing could be doing anything to her! I can't just stand here and do nothing!"

"We need the Autobots' help," Soundwave said before turning to the Autobots in order to recount his faction's tale. He made quick work of it, reporting a concise summary of the ordeal they had suffered through only a scant few hours before. Even as only bare facts, the horror of the story did not escape the Autobots. To add to the point, Soundwave employed several holograms in order to replay several key events to drive the gravity of the situation home: in full three-dimensional graphic horror, they witnessed Megatron's corpse awaken, Flamewar's capture, Sideswipe's arm crumble away, and Nightshade's fall before she disintegrated upon impact with the ground.

"As you can see, Megatron's back, and he is an extremely powerful opponent," Soundwave said, a tad quietly as he relived the moment of Nightshade's death. It took a moment for him to regain composure. "It is obvious that my faction lacks sufficient numbers and firepower to retaliate. A combined effort between us will be necessary."

"Yes, that much is obvious." Optimus contemplated Megatron's hologram, his gaze pensive. "But how is anything of this possible? There was no Allspark shard to bring him back like Jazz; you say he didn't even have a spark signature at all... He didn't seem at all like the Megatron I knew..."

Jazz's head jerked up, recalling two recent encounters with a creature who had no spark. Wary of speaking out just yet, he chose to wait a little longer and see if there were any other connections to be made.

Prowl sensed the saboteur's sudden tension. Unsure how to interpret it, he grasped his lover's hand reassuringly.

"You're right, Optimus... I don't think it was Megatron," Virus suddenly said, rubbing her forehead in a similar fashion one would when dealing with a serious headache. With all the major routing she was doing in her processor, a headache was the least of her problems.

"How so?" enquired Optimus, his optic ridges furrowing.

"Give me a moment... I'm looking for the file." Virus made a small noise of frustration, rapidly sorting through bytes of misplaced information. She dull optics flashed as she found the right sequence of data: "When I was connected to the frame, I felt this incredible... _coldness_ inside him. It seemed to go on for forever, like a black hole." She drew her arms around herself. Despite the heat of the desert, she felt chilled. "I realize that this sounds strange, and that my word shouldn't be trusted, but whatever was inside Megatron, it was ancient but it wasn't... _alive_. Not like us. It was so powerful, though; darker than anything I have encountered before..."

Ratchet exchanged a hard look with Wheejack, who returned it with a haunted look of his own.

"There was something inside the frame before you even interfaced with it, wasn't there?" the medic asked grimly.

Virus's optics flashed briefly, surprised by the address. "Yes- I was drawn to something inside. It called to me."

Ratchet's faceplate hardened. "Wheeljack and I felt the same thing when we were working on the frame. When you looked the corpse in the optics, it was like it was staring back. You _knew_ something was looking back." Virus nodded cautiously. Ratchet's optic ridges furrowed. "Whatever the thing was, it must have been trying to seduce someone into interfacing with it. It needed the energy boost in order to establish itself over the frame."

Jazz's hand involuntarily clenched around Prowl's.

"So... we're not dealing with Megatron anymore?" Bluestreaker asked cautiously.

"No, Blue, not Megs anymore," Wheeljack sighed.

"If not Megatron, then who are we supposed to be fighting here? Zombies? Ghosts?" Knockout huffed agitatedly.

When no longer able to stay silent, Jazz bowed his head and announced, "Ah think Ah know."

Prowl's optic ridges arched. "If you know something, tell us."

Jazz smirked, directing a blind stare to his lover. "Funny thing is, Ah've been tellin' ya for a while now, ya just didn't want ta believe meh."

"You mean the Fallen," Prowl stated, his expression quickly shifting to one of disapproval. "This is no time for jokes, Jazz."

"Who's jokin'?" Jazz growled. His visor snapped up, revealing twin dark pits where his optics should have been. "Does this look like a joke ta ya?"

"No." Prowl lowered his gaze, while the other recoiled in shock upon discovering the secret Jazz had been hiding behind his visor.

Satisfied that he had everyone's attention, Jazz continued. "Everythin' you've been sayin' matches up with the Fallen's _modus operandi_ as far as Ah can tell. When he possesses someone, ya can't read their sparks anymore. When he came in Prowl's frame, he tried ta make a deal with meh- he wanted meh ta interface with Megatron's frame. Ah refused an' Ah paid for it." He touched his faceplate lightly. "Virus must have given him exactly what he needed- a way inta Megatron's frame. Must'a needed someone livin' ta get inta somethin' dead."

Prowl recoiled from the silver bot, dawning horror slowly coming across his features. If Jazz was to be believed, it meant Prowl's hands had been the ones to take away Jazz's optics. The Fallen might have been in control, but his frame had still been the instrument.

"If this creature is capable of possession, then why choose to raise a damaged, empty frame when there are so many living ones to choose from?" Optimus questioned. "Why Megatron's frame?"

"Why not?" Jazz snorted, shrugging. "The armour's thick, the guns are huge, and no one's home: perfect place fer someone in need of a frame and not lookin' ta share with no one."

Barricade made a noise of frustration. "I don't care whether that thing is Megatron, the Fallen, or the damned Unmaker himself! I want to know where the pit he went so I can get my mate back! He's up there somewhere-" he gestured sharply above him, "doing Primus-only-knows-what to her!"

"What about the cloaked ship above Earth?" offered Mirage. "If Megatron or the Fallen were going somewhere, a cloaked ship that not even our sensors can detect would be a perfect place to escape to."

"You didn't think to mention this before?" the Decepticon hunter growled.

Mirage sent the minibot a cool stare. "I was waiting for the appropriate time to segue into the topic. Until now, there was no reason to suspect the two to be connected."

"Cloaked ship?" Soundwave enquired, cutting off an impassioned diatribe from Barricade.

"The best cloaking technology we've ever seen, but we are sure of its presence," elaborated the Master Spy, tilting his chin up ever so slightly. "It's attempted attacks on several of our Autobots trying to land here, succeeding in taking two. There's nothing else beyond the atmosphere for anyone to go, unless "the Fallen" is heading for the wormhole, in which case he would be ripped apart by the gravitational eddies. The ship is the most logical option."

"The cloaked ship and the Fallen are in league together?" pondered Optimus.

"Well, it's not the strangest thing any of us have suggested so far," Wheeljack shrugged.

"What about the fires in the sky? What do we attribute that to?" Chromia enquired sharply. It wouldn't be wise to forget one possible threat for another.

"Could they be the same thing?" Optimus wondered carefully. "The classic Fallen of myth was a figure bathed in flame, after all. The fire could be some secondary manifestation of the creature."

"It sounds preposterous..." Perceptor murmured unsurely.

"About as preposterous as anything else we've been talking about?" Wheeljack said, patting the microbot on the head. "Suspend yer disbelief, Percy. Yer head will hurt less that way."

"I'm inclined to believe it. I'm sure we've all seen things in our lives that are extremely hard to explain, this could be yet another example," Optimus concluded. "We don't know the full extent of what this thing is capable of, but from what we've seen, it's dangerous. A threat like this must be addressed immediately before something worse can occur." He moved to his feet, Soundwave following suit, and mirrored by the rest of the Autobots. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

"An attack?" Smokescreen frowned, shooting a hard look to Prowl as his fellow tactician. "We should come up with a plan first, not rush head-first into things."

"This isn't something you can plan away for," Ironhide rumbled darkly. "The monster showed its hand and made it clear it's not here for a friendly chat. I say we show our hand, that we're not willing to roll over for something that just crawled out of the pit." He appealed to the Prime with burning optics. "I propose that every able-bodied bot be on this mission. We could use all the firepower we can get; we can't risk any time in mounting a counterattack."

"Yes, of course," Optimus agreed grimly. "I think we all feel it; the time for action is now."

"We will take the _Darksyde_," Soundwave proposed, stepping off the ramp to leave the way clear. "It is the only ship currently on Earth that can accommodate us all. Its weaponry is fully stocked and at the ready."

"I could fight this thing with both arms tied behind my back!" Sideswipe exclaimed, puffing out his chest.

"You're halfway there already," Ratchet growled. "You and Sunstreaker are staying here. You're not up for any fight in the conditions you're in." He pushed the pair back as others began to make their way to the ramp.

"That's not fair! I've fought in way worse condition before!" Sideswipe crowed.

"Life isn't fair. Stay here and stay safe," ordered the medic, turning away so that he, too, could join the procession.

As Ironhide passed the twins, he paused long enough to lay his hand to Sunstreaker's shoulder. Their gazes met. Neither said a word, but they didn't have to. It was enough to know that Ironhide, of all mechs, was rising to the occasion to help a Decepticon like Flamewar, an old friend of Sunstreaker's. Actions spoke far louder than words.

Trojan and Worm left Virus on the ground as they made their way to the ship. The femme took furious exception to the exclusion.

"The _Darksyde_ is my ship! Flamewar is part of my crew! I'm coming, too!" she exclaimed, marching after her cohorts. They spun around and shooed her back. She bristled, hissing, "It's not too dangerous for me! I'm a biped now, not an invalid!"

"They mean it's too dangerous to have you with us," Soundwave said. "You still have no visual recognition subroutines; you're just as likely to infect one of us as you are the enemy. We can't risk that."

Virus opened her mouthplates to object, but was silenced as Blaster and Perceptor came up to flank her on either side. Now that she was downsized, she fit right in between Blaster's six-foot stature and Preceptor's eight.

"We're not going to be of much use up there either," Blaster imparted to Optimus. "Shorties like us don't pack a lot of firepower, but Percy and I can stay behind for damage control. With the way the planet is freaking out right now, there's still a lot of damage control to be done."

"Very well," Optimus nodded. He cast a careful look in Prowl's direction, who had yet to make his way to the ramp yet didn't seem able to look in Jazz's direction either. "Prowl?"

Startled, the tactician jerked his gaze up. He took his first step toward Prime, paused, looked back at Jazz, and then looked away again when he knew Jazz wouldn't be able to come, nor even look him in the optic. The silver mech couldn't come on this mission. _His fault_. He hurried up the ramp without another word.

Seeing as Prowl was the last of the Autobots to board, Soundwave and Optimus quickly made their trek up the ramp into the _Darksyde_. As soon as they were within the hatch, it sealed itself. The activity around them was tense and vigorous, warriors checking and double-checking themselves and their weaponry. How was one supposed to combat an enemy that lived between the realms of mythology and reality? They didn't even have a proper plan of attack.

For all they knew, they were sacrificing themselves on a suicide mission.

Soundwave rumbled deeply as he surveyed the cluster of Autobots, and then he regarded their leader. "Thank you. I am grateful for this, and I am sure if Barricade were not so preoccupied, he would convey his thanks as well."

"It's hard for an unbonded bot to understand where a sparkmate is coming from, but-," Optimus cut off as an electric shock passed through him. His hand rose to his chest as a new awareness spread throughout his consciousness, a dawning comprehension of who was contacting him and what her message really was. "-I know _exactly_ how he feels..."


	51. All Hell Breaks Loose: Part I

Climax of a story? Yes, please. ^_^

**Flameshield**- Goodness, you're so right! The end is near! =D I hope that it lives up to your expectations~ ^_^ If there is a continuation of this series, you will certainly see what becomes of everyone. =) Oh, and good luck on your PT tests! (Even though they were on the 11th. ) =)

**Queen of the Red Skittle**- My friend, it is an immense delight and relief to know that you enjoyed the chapter. I do agree with you that the action of the last chapter did happen a tad fast. . However, since this story has been in the making for over two years, it could also be said the call to the final action has been rather slow. =P No matter the case, you're quite right in surmising that this call to action is the rising catalyst that finally brings it all together. Thank you for your honest opinions and insight~ You're too kind to indulge in a story such as this. ^_^

**Dramastar-Mel**- Yes, Virus is indeed alive and finally her own person. Whether or not that improves her disposition is yet to be seen...^_^; As for the presence of the Fallen in this series, he became a part of the stories when his brethren were first introduced in _Surface of the Sun_. It had little to do with ROTF. I'm beyond flattered that you enjoy my version of the Fallen character so much! =D

**Phoenix13**- Sorry it's taken so long to get to Elita- there was about a billion other stories to tell before everything could come together for her. ^_^;

**lady_tecuma**- ...okay, new chapter coming up. Just put the Hound plushie down.

**Lecidre**- Heh, this action has been two years in the making, hasn't it? Took long enough to get to it. I hope that it lives up to your expectations. =) And goodness, you have no idea how touched I was to know that you were happy Virus survived! There's probably more than a few readers who probably wanted her dead. . Just one reader happy that she's alive is so wonderful! *hugs* Thank you so much for you review, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

**Balrog Rioke**- Hahaha, caught on to Barricade's comment, did you? He's closer than anyone else to the truth, yet they're all so far! XD It's true that everyone is rushing into the situation a little quickly, but sometimes one's heart/spark does get ahead of their brains/processors. Now all that can be done is pray for everyone's survival...

**LanturtheMarlfox**- I'm deeply honoured by your review, my friend. It can be a very hard thing for some readers to let go of the black-and-white of good guys and villains and see shades of grey instead, and the fact that you were willing to endure the headache of this story with its rainbow of grey leaves me humbled. There's a lot of hardship and angst faced by the characters in this series; you're right in saying their versions here are not their typical depictions. It's good to throw something a little different into the mix once in a while, you know? =P Thank you so much for your review~ I hope you continue to enjoy the climax of the story. =)

**CuteKitten**- Hehehe, I'm a sucker for writing cliffhangers. =P I really hope that the battle is going to be epic, otherwise people would have been reading this story all for nothing! XD It's been a while since this writer has had a chance to stretch her action-writing muscles, so we'll see if I haven't lost my touch. =P And you very welcome for clearing things up- I'd hate to confuse my readers... more that I already do. ^_^;

**Sebastian** **Nyte-** Hey there! Been a while since I've heard from you! 8D Here's hoping that everything you hope for does come true- be it between Sunny and Moonie, or with the Autobots and Decepticons fight for their lives and loved ones.

**FunkyFish1991-** Yet again you point out a pattern that I completely missed before this- every time Sunstreaker tries to do something right, it usually goes horribly wrong. I guess that line I wrote for him a few chapters back about fate knowing he was no hero was more telling than I thought it was... ^^; He might as well give up on being nice, because it probably will never work out for him... . You're right when you say the only one benefiting is Sideswipe, but so long as Sides is good, he'll be there for Sunny like a good brother should! 8D Oh, yes- thank you so much for the compliments. I was preening over the 'diabolical', 'evil', 'fiendish', and 'twisted' love names right up until 'smelly poo', then you made me laugh. XD And I'm glad the Star Wars-esque title was caught by someone; you know how important is to placate the nerds. =P

**Chloo**- Hahaha, yeah, there's always a chance of the universe being destroyed when you have the Fallen, the Fallen's master, and Shockwave all working together... ^_^; But, not to worry, even if the end of the universe is coming, it won't arrive for another couple chapters. I think the Epilogue is chapter 54, but don't quote me on that... =P As for Prowl and Jazz and everyone else involved in this wild debacle: you should know better than to wonder if things will ever go right! XD Things only go a little bit right once in a blue moon, and then everything goes horribly, horribly wrong! XD

Shout out to** Fishy**: You are the bacon to my scrambled eggs.

Shout out to my other peeps- **Lecidre, Litahatchee:** cosmic love!

**As We Come Together  
In Which All Hell Breaks Loose: Part I  
**

A soft gasp filled the gloom, the first noise made in the last joor. Flamewar ceased her pacing along the edges of her cage to cast through the darkness for Elita. She spotted the dim glow of the other femme's optics near the opposite wall.

"Well? Did you get a hold of him? Are they coming?" Flamewar demanded.

"Yes," Elita groaned, hunching forward. The effort of making contact cost her the last dregs of her energy.

"Good, that means we'll have a ride back to Earth when we get out of here," Flamewar growled.

"What do you mean?" asked the other femme, curious of the tone the Decepticon used. Had she not of been blind in the utter darkness, Elita would have been privy to the sharp smile that curved her company's faceplate. Nonetheless, Elita could see pitfire glowing in Flamewar's optics.

"You didn't think I was just going to stand around and wait to be rescued, did you?" Flamewar barked a derisive laugh. "Sorry, I'm not that kind of bot."

"What do you plan to do?" Elita wondered, listening as Flamewar resumed her agitated pacing. It was safe to question the femme out in the open like this; the Fallen felt distracted by something other than his favourite plaything. It was unlikely he was lurking about eavesdropping.

"I don't know yet. I still have to figure that part out." It was hard to think when her spark hurt so damn bad, like some fresh wound that was ripped raw over and over every time her spark beat. Had it been a physical wound, she'd easily have been able to ignore it. An internal pain like this though... Damn it, she hated the downsides to sparkbonding!

Elita fell silent as she allowed her company to seethe.

Flamewar made a perfect circuit around their cell before she spoke again. "You've been here for a long time, haven't you?" she asked sharply, searching for Elita again. The other femme's optics were closed, effectively letting her disappear.

"Yes."

"Have you ever come across a weakness in the force fields? Anything that would help us escape?"

"Nothing that I can think of," sighed Elita.

Flamewar snorted, glaring in her company's general direction, "Have you even _tried_ to get out of here?"

Elita's optics reappeared in the darkness, glaring harshly. "Of course I have. Obviously I'm not staying for the health benefits." Her glare subsided into something less potent. "You have no idea how long I've been here; I can hardly even comprehend it myself. All I know is that every attempt I've ever tried at getting away has failed, so I gave up. All I'm trying to do now is survive."

"And how's that working out for you?" Flamewar sneered.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

With a short snort, the Decepticon femme turned on her heel to make another circuit around their cell. Doing something helped keep her mind off of her incarceration and let her focus on other more important subjects- like escaping. Walking around in the dark was pretty much like trying to figure out how to escape: you never knew when something was going to trip you up. Miscalculating where Elita had been lurking all this time, Flamewar tripped over the poor creature. Elita gave a yelp of surprise, scrambling away. Flamewar went down faceplate first. They both tried to stand at the same time, smacking their heads together. Flamewar recoiled into the wall while Elita stumbled blindly across the cell until she hit the force field. A flash of white erupted, silhouetting the femme. Unlike Flamewar, her reaction to the electrified field was entirely anti-climatic, not even tossed away by it.

Flinching from the sudden shock of light, it took a moment for the Decepticon to understand what she just saw. Once her wits came back to her, she rushed to Elita and hauled her to stand. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Touch the force field! You didn't even flinch!"

Elita met Flamewar's gaze, canting her head slightly. When she answered, she used the tone of an adult addressing a particularly dull youngling. "My neural net doesn't work anymore, and my pressure sensor grid is a 50/50 thing at best. I don't feel much of anything."

"No pain?"

"Not the physical kind, no," Elita admitted. "There are a thousand other ways to feel pain, though. Through the spark, for one."

"Never mind that; don't think of that pain. Focus on right now. Focus on getting out of here. If we get out, you won't hurt anymore. I promise." Flamewar's hands tightened under Elita's arms where she held the other femme up. She pushed Elita's back against the force field, illuminating a short sphere around them. "We can use this. I don't know how, but we can."

Elita didn't even flinch with the contact, though dawning comprehension was slowly lifting her faceplate. She was set back on her feet, bracing her hand against Flamewar's prickly frame for better support. "I hadn't thought of that before..." Had they still be illuminated by the sparking force field, Flamewar would have been privy to the painfully humiliated look Elita was wearing. "I've been so focused on keeping alive in this place for so long, I forgot about searching for a way out."

Flamewar snorted, peering down at the pinpricks of white light hovering not far from her side. "Just waiting for Optimus Prime to show up and save the day?" The words came out more scathing than she meant, though the tone seemed to go right over Elita One's head.

"No, not even that. After you spend so long in this place, you forget who you are. You become a number. I hardly even remembered Optimus." She sounded miserably guilty. "Until the moment when you were thrown in here, I could hardly remember what hope was."

"If you remembered me properly, you'd know I wasn't someone who bots regularly put a lot of hope in," the Decepticon warmed grimly.

"Then it's a good thing I don't remember you; I think I like this version of you better," Elita replied. She pushed herself to stand on her own, turning to face the force field. "If we're going to figure a way out of here, we better do it quick. You can feel it, can't you?"

Flamewar raised a hand to her spark. "They're getting closer."

"Yes." Elita touched her hand to the electrified field again. "Close your optics- have a look around. Tell me if you see someone."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Flamewar shuttered her optics, searching through the flames warily. "Who am I supposed to be looking for?"

"The Fallen," Elita replied. "His... spectre, or whatever it is. If he was around, you wouldn't be able to miss him. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't lurking around. I don't hear him, but you never know with something like him. He's tricky."

"No one's around."

"He's probably still distracted by something..."

"I can only imagine," Flamewar sneered, thinking of the pit-born creature that brought her here. If the Fallen was a real creature as fickle as Elita described him, than he was probably having the time of his life poking at an undead Megatron. Shaking off the thought, she announced, "We better work quick."

Together, they pushed as much debris as they could against the force field so that it was permanently lit up. The smell of burning rust filled their olfactory sensors, but they ignored it. While it wasn't the best quality of light, flickering and staticky, it was all they had to work with while they pondered over how to defeat the force field. Elita seemed to come into herself the more she focused on the task; the vagueness in her optics and speech was slowly replaced with a new sharpness and coherency. Flamewar remained just as agitated as she had been the moment she'd been thrown in the cell, but at least now she had something to invest her frustrations in.

"What if you run at it hard enough?" the Decepticon suggested. "It's just energy, right? There's no actual physical presence there to keep us in, and if you can't feel the burn, you could probably pass through."

"Doesn't matter if it's only energy, it can still repulse me. If I run at it, it'll throw me back with equal and opposite force," Elita sighed. "Did you forget what it did to you?"

"I'd say that was greater force than what I ran at it with," Flamewar huffed. She leaned in close to the field, peering out through the flickering energy. There was a walkway with a railing, followed by a sheer drop whose bottom disappeared beyond sight. Across from that was another walkway and another prison cell parallel to theirs. Pinpoints of light stared back from that distant cell. Flamewar jerked back, pressing her mouthplates into a thin line. "Frag, this place is disturbing."

"You have no idea," Elita lamented. She touched the field again, pressing lightly. The smell of her own metal burning quickly filled her olfactory sensor, though she was numb to the burning sensation. When she pressed harder, her hand moved through a fraction before being met by resistance.

Flamewar observed the action calculatingly. "You're not being repulsed as strongly as I thought you'd be."

"I'm not pressing that hard," Elita informed.

"It's more than that, I think," Flamewar murmured, looking down to the copious amounts of frame parts they'd pushed against the field. "Do you think piling the junk against the field disperse the energy enough to lesson the repluse-reaction."

"Possibly," Elita said unsurely. "Unfortunately, even if the field is weak enough not to incinerate me, I don't think I'm strong enough to press all the way through. If you haven't noticed, I'm barely holding it together as it is."

"Yes, there is that..." Flamewar frowned, pointedly looking away from her companion's frame. She could admit that Elita One had once been one of the most beautifully designed femmes she'd ever known, but now... Among all the disturbing things she'd witnessed as a mercenary, Elita was easily up there in the top ten.

"Give me a push?" the other femme suggested.

"We can try," Flamewar conceded.

Elita placed her smoldering palm to the electrified field again, pressing against it with the same strength of a summer's breeze. When the field starting pushing back beyond what Elita could resist, Flamewar added her own strength to the push. Planting her hands firmly on Elita's back, she gently eased the other femme forward. A crackle-hiss-pop came from the field as Elita's hand breached the other side. It smoldered and smoked from the deep charring it sustained, but it was at least free.

"We're actually doing it," Elita exclaimed breathlessly as she watched her elbow follow her wrist to freedom.

"Don't get ahead of yourself- we still have to get the rest of you through," Flamewar growled, now forced to place her shoulder to the centre of Elita's back and put her weight behind the push. The closer to freedom Elita came, the greater the force field resisted. If Flamewar started shoving harder, it pushed back harder. It was a hard paradox to fight; she had to invest all her strength in the act, yet be as gentle as she could.

A tremble passed through Elita as she neared the one obstacle she feared the most.

"What is it?" Flamewar asked, glaring over the femme's shoulder in case the drones were coming back.

"My spark," Elita murmured. "It's going to hurt."

Flamewar's own spark plummeted a little. "Do you think you can still go through with it?"

"I... yes, keep going. We might only get one chance at this."

She tensed as the first electric vibrations of the force field brushed against the metal of her sparkcase, plucking at her spark. When the electricity started burning her in earnest, she shook with the effort it took to stay silent. It was pain like what Shockwave dealt when she was under his microscope; an unyielding burn that spread into regions that touched beyond the physical. It was a violation so deep that she knew it would leave a stain on her for the rest of her life. Flamewar was behind her, alternating between hissing curses and uttering words in an attempt at being soothing. Elita felt herself shaking so badly, it was a wonder that she didn't shake herself apart. When it all became too much, her optics blacked out, with the rest of her consciousness following suit.

When next she came to, which couldn't have been more than a few astroseconds later, she was collapsed in a heap on the floor and her designation was being screamed at her.

"Elita One! Elita One! Get up! Dammit, they know you're out! They're coming! Get up! Get up already!"

Jerking up too fast, Elita collapsed back to the floor in a heap. She found her limbs useless, charred to a crisp from the electrocution the force field had kindly supplied her with.

"I can't get up!" she exclaimed.

"You have to get up!" Flamewar howled, rocked into a frenzy on her side of the field. "They're coming! I can see their optics! Frag it, Elita, hurry!"

Coming through the gloom were the small dots of yellowed light that heralded the approach of the drone. Their heavy steps were lost in the new cacophony of the prison room as other formerly-lifeless experiments realized that one of their own was out. It was an explosion of light, noise, and chaos as the prisoners howled, roared, and cursed. Their fists banged against the force fields, throwing bright blasts of light into the gloom. Above it all was Flamewar's screams for Elita to get up, to run, _to do anything_!

With panic starting to take hold, Elita forced herself to her feet. She felt her charred joints crack, on the verge of crumbling under the strain of her weight. With great effort, she rocked herself to the side where the control panel was, scrabbling at the indecipherable buttons for any kind of release that would free Flamewar.

"Forget about me! Run, Elita! _Run!_" Flamewar shrieked.

The drones were already on top of her, acting as the cold and calculating contrasts to the chaos erupting around them. An arm shot out to capture Elita. She cried out, ducking in time. There was no way she could fight them all off when she was a fraction of their size and stood as purely a husk of her former self. Gritting her mouthplates, she did the first thing that came to mind. Grasping her left forearm with her right, she ripped as hard as she could and tore it from her body. Bright blue energon, poorly glowing and mostly congealed, spattered up the wall. The sharp rods of her endoskeleton jutted out like spikes from the severed limb. Without a second thought, Elita plunged the makeshift weapon into the control panel. A shriek rose from the console, followed by acrid smoke and angry fireworks.

The force field dropped.

Hungry red optics were suddenly blazing out from the deep cavern of the open prison cell. With a snarl, Flamewar leaped from her cage. Every ounce of fury and pain she currently suffered was effectively poured into her assault. In the wild strobing of hundreds of force fields lighting up under pounding fists, her attack was reduced to a series of vicious stop-motion images: her claws burrowing deep into the collapsed faceplate of a drone: the head of a drone severed from its frame: Flamewar's frame swooped low, claws slashing out the tension wires in the drones' legs: diving into the downed fray with growing lust for the kill. She was grabbed and torn at, but she now held the upper hand. Her fury far outweighed the frigid calculations of mindless tools. Limbs were ripped off. The gore of spattered energon glowed across the walls and floor.

As the last drone fell, Flamewar rose from the massacre like a god of war. Her frame glowed with a fierce blue aura from spilt energon, while her optics blazed with victorious, feral light. She heaved from the effort of the battle, one hand gripping her upper leg where a drone had managed to twist the plating off, her mouthplates stretched wide into a grin.

"That felt good."

Elita raised her one good hand to her mouthplates, stunned by the violence she just witnessed. "You were terrifying."

"Like you said- we do what we can to survive. I just happen to like that part of surviving," Flamewar replied, kicking her way out of the pile of drones to get the the other femme. She knelt to the cold floor, presenting her back to Elita. "Climb on. You're not going anywhere on your own in the condition you're in."

Steeling herself for the effort, Elita threaded her arm around Flamewar's neck and hauled her frame against the stronger femme's back. Clawed hands gently skimmed beneath her legs, hoisting her higher and wrapping her legs around for support.

"What about the others?" Elita murmured, casting a mournful glance to the hundreds of howling prisoners rattling their cages around them.

"We don't have time for them," Flamewar sighed, breaking into the quick lope for the exit. "They saw how we got out. Hopefully that will be enough for them to figure it out for themselves. We can't waste anymore time- if Megatron or Shockwave show up, we're done for. I can't fight them off."

Elita shuddered, arm clenching around her saviour's neck. "Alright, go."

They bounded into the hallway beyond, briefly blinded by the suddenness of the grey light that met them there. It was like being tossed into another reality; once the door to the prison closed, silence pressed in from every side. The panelled walls moved of their own accord, hissing and shifting in perpetual clockwork. Two directions were immediately available to the femmes- left and right. Both equally alien. Equally ominous.

"Dammit, which way?" Flamewar snarled.

"Shhhhh," hushed Elita, cocking her head to music only heard by her. It was loudest in one particular direction. "Go right."

* * *

Upon reaching the outer most limits of Earth's atmosphere, the tension aboard the _Darksyde_ drew to an all-time high. One of the most gigantic flaws of their gung-ho battle plan was quickly coming to the forefront of everyone's attention.

"If the ship is cloaked, how are we supposed to find it?" Wheeljack asked.

"We can try a vector-by-vector grid search of the area," Prowl offered in sharp monotone; his emotional centre was off.

"Do you have any idea how big space is? That could take forever," Ratchet snapped, sending the tactician a narrowed look. "We don't have time for something like that."

"Unless the Fallen has learnt to subspace himself, there'll be some sort of trace around here for us to follow," Hound intoned, bent over a nearby console as he scanned space. "We just have to find that trace and follow it."

"Without knowing what kind of technology we're dealing with, we don't even know what kind of trace we're looking for," Smokescreen sighed grimly, coordinating with Hound on another console. He steadily shifted through every phase variance known to their species, only to come back with nothing. He was quickly coming to the end of all phase variances and becoming more and more frustrated with each failure. His fist striking his console was loud enough to cause the entire crew of the bridge to jump. "There's nothing out there! No ion trail! No energy signatures!"

"It's out there somewhere- we know it is. Keep trying," Optimus insisted, searching through the view screen for any given sign that his sparkmate was out there. He could feel her so close now. It was a very bizarre feeling. Her presence felt so overwhelmingly encompassing that is was as if she were stretched to the infinite corners of space, yet at the same time she was so small she could have been threaded through the eye of a needle. The contradictory feelings left the Prime disorientated and wary to trust his own senses.

Soundwave came to the aid of Hound and Smokescreen, silently commandeering the controls. He was far more familiar with the _Darksyde_, and as such had a better rapport with the ship's internal workings. As well, he had a few personal tricks of his own he had yet to try out.

So concentrated was everyone's attention on the complex equations Soundwave was manipulating, the small crowd of warrior's failed to notice the small crack in the bridge's door hiss closed. An off-blue shadow crept away. Slithering off deeper into the bowels of the dark ship, Dealer slowly morphed into his proper counterpart. In the privacy of the engine room, the double-agent resumed his bipedal shape and stretched with a flourish. Doubledealer's faceplate was alive with a satisfaction both twisted and sinister.

From subspace, he withdrew the small communications device that would put him in direct contact with the Mastermind. Before making contact, Doubledealer tilted his head and beckoned to the nearest shadows.

"Why don't you stop hiding, Punch? It's a little redundant when I know you're there."

Punch released the dampener hiding his spark signature, stepping out from the shadow of one of the _Darksyde_'s massive engines. The noise of the ancient machines was normally deafening, but under the gravity of the given moment, they were rendered mute. Punch's sudden question rang with disturbing clarity through the rattling recesses of the room.

"What are you doing with that communicator?"

Doubledealer let an acidic smile curl his mouthplates. "Isn't it obvious?"

"If you warn him we're coming, we'll all die," Punch pointed out darkly.

The dark-blue mech laughed. "We're all dead anyways, but this way is more entertaining. I might get _paid _for handing you all over to him."

"You can be serious!" Punch exclaimed.

"Deadly serious," Doubledealer drawled. "You should get in on this. If you're in this with me, there's a chance you could survive. I'd share the credits, too- it'd only be fair." He leaned against an energy distributor, his smoldering red optics glinting in the dim gloom. "What do you say? Ten percent? How about twenty?"

Punch recoiled a step. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Sure I am," Doubledealer shrugged. "The question is, is it _me_ who's listening, or the _other me? _You can never be quite sure, can you? Tricky thing, that is." His optics flashed red to blue, his smile stretching too wide to suit Doubledealer, but not quite wide enough to be Dealer. An enigma wrapped in a puzzle and tied with a riddle.

Punch was suddenly disturbingly unsure of who he was addressing. He shifted in agitation, optics flicking to the communicator still clenched in his friend's hand. Doubledealer's fingers were too close to the buttons. "Stop playing games," he demanded tightly. "Even if you did do it- even if you sold us all out, do you think you could live with it for the rest of your life? Think of all the deaths you'd have on your shoulders!"

"I couldn't care less. This won't be the first time I've sold sparks off, and it probably won't be the last." Doubledealer's optics returned to their deep-red setting, his Decepticon self taking full precedence. "You and I are so far above all this, we shouldn't have to go down with everyone else," he said, slithering forward. "We've been playing both sides, but we're not really either one, are we? We shouldn't have to die for either side if we don't belong. We could hand everyone over, take our credits, and run far from here." He slithered close enough to touch. "We could find a place to be ourselves," a long, teasing claw ran down the length of Punch's chassis, "-all _four_ of us."

Punch jerked away. The part of him that was Counterpunch, the part that seemed to be taking on a life of its own, was interested in the offer Doubledealer was making. Counterpunch wanted to beg for the chance to keep his life. He clawed at Punch's insides to get out. The cowering, snivelling, programmed Decepticon side of him fought like a living virus to take over, to escape, to sacrifice everyone just for a chance to live.

"No," Punch growled, to himself and to his fellow double-agent.

An optic ridge arched mockingly. "Counterpunch could in a sparkbeat."

"I'm not Counterpunch," Punch snarled.

"Of course not, he's his own bot, isn't he?" taunted Doubledealer, dangling the communicator just out of reach so as to further incite his opponent.

Punch's optics flashed, his innards clenching tight. "He's not real."

Doudledealer's optics blazed with poisonous delight as he asked, "Are you sure?"

Punch swung away, bristling. "Dammit, Doubledealer, stop it! Counterpunch is not real, and neither is Dealer! You need to stop this right now!"

"I'm not the one getting worked up right now, Punch. You are." A dark, knowing growl accompanied the words. "Are you sure Counterpunch isn't in there somewhere, getting you all agitated? You're normally so calm and cool. I bet little Counterpunch is in there, clawing to get out. I bet you feel him in there, screaming as loud as he can. Let him come out and play, Punch. He can be the one to hand over the _Darksyde_. You won't have to feel guilty at all."

Punch shuddered, looking away. His fists clenched at his sides. "You're sick, Doubledealer. You need help, and so do I." He held out his hand. "Give me the communicator and I will make sure we get the help we need."

The double-agent looked down to the potentially sinister device sitting so demurely in his palm. It had so much potential; its worth was beyond priceless. He looked up to meet the deadly serious gaze of Punch, whose optics pleaded with him to hand over the communicator. In those glittering blue optics, Doubledealer saw the telltale flicker of red; the blinding yellow-orange of Punch's paint turned shadowed. With a sharp laugh, the Decepticon jerked back.

"Looks like a part of you doesn't want to get help," hissed Doubledealer, laughing. His optics flickered bright, lively blue. "Oh, lovely little Punch," Dealer sang, twirling the communicator like a toy. "Looks like Counterpunch doesn't quite agree with you." The bubblegum-blue bot danced close to his fellow Autobot, leaning in to croon in Punch's audio. "I know you're listening, Counterpunch. Thank you, thank you, you sweet, smart thing."

Punch gasped, the world blacking out as his optics bled red. A shaking hand reached for Dealer, grasping for him. "I w-w-want t-to live!" Counterpunch stuttered helplessly.

Doubledealer returned, stroking Counterpunch's trembling faceplate with a mad sort of glee. "You will live. All four of us will. All we have to do is hand everyone else over."

"NO!" Punch suddenly wrenched back into his own mind, gripping the sides of his head as he fought with his own mind. "I'm an Autobot!"

"You're only an Autobot as an afterthought," Doubledealer sneered.

"I won't do it! I won't betray everyone!" Punch snarled, glaring at Doubledealer. His fists clenched over his chassis, above the sparkcase he had branded so long ago with the decal of the Autobots. That brand existed to forever remind him who he was: an Autobot. He met Doubledealer's gaze, then glared at the communicator. It was the tipping point of their match. He couldn't risk it any longer. Playing around like this only increased the chances that the other double-agent's fingers would slip. With a snarl, Punch leaped for his former-friend, tackling him to the ground furiously.

They skidded into the dust of the engine room. Fists flew, sparking angry flashes of light as metal struck metal mercilessly. There wasn't just two combatants in the fight, there were four. Three against one. Punch fought with all he had, but it wasn't just him in his head. If he had the upper hand, he would black out for a moment, his fist would freeze, something would hold him back. Doubledealer had no qualms with taking advantage of the handicap, striking Punch with deadly accuracy. Dealer would slip into the fight whenever he saw an opening; bright-blue paint would flash, a dagger would ram up under Punch's plating, followed by whimsical laughter. It quickly became a losing battle for the one Autobot when even his own frame fought against him.

They rolled again. Through the oily grime and smears of dirt that tracked the floors of the _Darksyde_. They fought with all they had. Grappling. Wrestling. They kicked, clawed, punched, and fought for their lives. As the world whirled around them, Punch somehow ended up on top. By a stroke of luck, he'd managed to pin the other mech. His blaster was drawn, pointed for Doubledealer's head.

Seeing the black barrel charging, the Decepticon became an Autobot. "You wouldn't shoot a friend point blank, would you?" Dealer whimpered.

Punch faltered.

Dealer's optics grew wide, piteous. "You said you were an Autobot, Punch. Autobots don't shoot their friends, right? You don't shoot fellow Autobots." A timid hand rose, grasping Punch's wrist, trying to point the blaster elsewhere. "Prove you're an Autobot, Punch. Don't shoot me."

"I am an Autobot," Punch stated, almost sobbing. Counterpunch was fighting as hard a he could for control. His fingers felt like they belonged to someone else, unable to move, unable to squeeze the trigger.

"Yeah, that's right, you're an Autobot," Dealer encouraged, continuing to push Punch's gun away from his head. "You and I are Autobots. You can't shoot me. It's not in you to shoot me."

Punch's optics flashed bright, fevered, as he stared down at the creature pinned beneath him. He couldn't shoot an Autobot. He couldn't. He wasn't a Decepticon. He was an Autobot. He was an Autobot. He was an Autobot. But the bot beneath him wasn't.

A single shot rang out in the engine room.

The silence afterwards rang even louder.

"...Doubledealer?" Punch wondered brokenly.

The silence became deafening. Painful.

A wretched noise rose from the Autobot double-agent as he stared down. A sick, wavering, broken noise came from him unlike anything that had ever crossed his mouthplates before. He was covered in gore. His chest and arms glowed, spattered in horrific patterns that burned their way into the back of his mind. Energon and flakes of Doubledealer's processor; bits and pieces that should have stayed on the inside. Punch's hand spasmed, dropping the gun he had never fired. It skittered away from him. A choking sound started to work its way up from his tanks, energon slowly moving upward. He convulsed, sobbed, and then ejected the contents of his tanks right next to the cooling corpse that lay beneath him.

The presence of a hand came down on Punch's shoulder, invisible at first. It gripped their steadily, unseen yet the only steady thing in the devolving Autobot's universe. A low hum buzzed under the noise of Punch's wild sobbing, Mirage's holographic projectors powered down. The Master Spy soon materialized in the engine room, kneeling at Punch's side, his faceplate sombre. He set away his smoking gun.

Seeing his former commander, Punch launched himself at him. His shaking hands curled into the ice-blue armour. His forehead banged against the mech's hard chest. "I am an Autobot! I am an Autobot! I am an Autobot!" he chanted, becoming a fevered mantra as he rocked himself against Mirage. "I am an Autobot. I am an Autobot. I am an Autobot."

"I know," Mirage sighed, stroking the back of Punch's head. The mech had once been such a good scout. No one could have asked for a better, more steady, stable warrior. If only he hadn't been poached by Jazz to join the Special Ops division. Jazz had ruined him. "You didn't kill him. You never would have been able to pull the trigger, Punch. I did it."

Punch sobbed, shaking his head. He was inconsolable.

Mirage sighed, pulling the mech away from Doubledealer's corpse. It was not a pretty sight, not something they needed to be crouched over. Punch tried to claw his way back to the empty shell of his friend, but Mirage proved stronger.

"I am an Autobot," moaned the scout, holding on to his ex-commander like a sobbing youngling.

"You've always been a true Autobot, Punch," the Master Spy assured soothingly. "When this is over, we're going to get you help. You're going to be okay."

Punch still rocked himself, borderline catatonic as he waged war on himself for his own sanity. All he could do was keep repeating the mantra: _I am an Autobot. I am an Autobot. I am an Autobot. _But there was a question in his optics as he regarded Mirage.

With a sad smile that never reached his glacial optics, the Master Spy helped the former-scout to his feet. "I've been suspicious of Dealer for a while now," he said. "I followed you both here to see if my suspicions proved true, which they did. " He stooped for the forgotten communicator laying in Doubledealer's limp open palm. Turning it over, he frowned at what the screen displayed. "Unfortunately, it looks like I got here too late."

* * *

"Wait, did anyone see that?" Hound intoned, fingers pausing over the controls. "The stars... did they just... _move_?"

Wheeljack backed away from the view screen, suddenly feeling very cold inside. He saw the signs once before. A ripple of the stars before space opened up into that Other Place. That cold, black hole that had tried to suck him and Tungsten in once. "Oh no... no, no, no... Not that. Anything but that."

Ratchet grasped his friend's shoulder, feeling the uncontrollable tremors now racing through him. "What it is?"

"It's the black hole," Wheeljack murmured, still trying to back away. His fins flashed erratically with his sudden alarm. "It was in Beta-Zen. It's not a normal black hole, Ratch'. _It's alive_. What if it followed me here? We have to get away."

Ratchet's hands firmed on his friend's shoulders the the mech further devolved into a panic attack. "Wheeljack, what are you talking about? What black hole?"

Right on cue, the stars rippled as a veil was pulled aside. A gaping wound in the universe was revealed bleeding into a place beyond mortal comprehension. The stars that still flickered went dim, distant, and dead. From the depths of the hole came a long, deep, hollow groan that brought with it a blast of cold unlike anything the bots aboard the _Darksyde_ had felt before. It pierced the hull as if it were made of paper, seeping into the bots' metal like a living force. The _Darksyde_ shuddered in protest as it was drawn into the emptiness. Its thrusters chugged at full strength, though remained helpless to the indomitable pull.

Optimus leaned forward, clenched fists grinding into the back of the chair he leaned into. He could hear his spark's pulse roaring in his audios, each beat burning wildly against the inside of his sparkcase. "Elita One's close." He could feel her, getting closer with every passing moment. She was frantic, fluttering like a storm. He wanted to reach out and touch her.

Trojan and Worm pounded furiously at the _Darksyde'_s controls. They couldn't break free from the incredible gravity sucking them in. It was greater than anything they'd ever witnessed before. The darkness seemed darker than anything they had ever seen before- a physical darkness that was mass, weight, and _sentience_. With little hope of illunimating their way, the two Decepticons threw on every light on the _Darksyde_'s hull. Tit did little good. Nothing was revealed. Literally, _nothing_. They were floating in the middle of nothing. A place where the antithesis of order and creation lurked. A void to defeat all other voids.

Mirage suddenly appeared on the bridge, Punch supported against his side. In one hand, he held out an unfamiliar piece of technology. "Dealer appears to have also been the Decepticon Doubledealer; he's dead, but whoever we're about to meet knows we're coming now."

"That explains why the cloak was suddenly dropped," Prowl said, frowning. "We have no element of surprise now."

"This just keeps getting better." Smokescreen scowled, optics transfixed to the seemingly endless, lightless vault they had been lured into.

Chromia was suddenly in the bridge's open doorway, scowling. Like every other living being aboard the _Darksyde_, she felt the indelible cold sinking into her frame, into her spark. It wasn't a natural feeling by any stretch of the imagination. If malice had a palpable sensation, this would be it.

"What the pit is happening?" she hissed.

"We are about to find out," Soundwave warned, having never taken his optics off the view screen. He saw the shift of nothing on nothing. Sensed it more than saw. Like the blinking of an optic in the dark. The sensed spacial difference between infinite and finite. It was the instinct that told a blind mech there was someone standing right in front of him.

Indeed, there was someone in front of them, as well as above them, below them, and behind them. They were surrounded.

Grey light flared, blinding them through the view screen. The _Darksyde_ rocked and groaned as a floor suddenly materialized beneath it. Walls so far apart they might not have been there at all. A ceiling so high it was more myth than real. Around them, their surroundings rapidly materialized, and with it came their welcoming party.

Drones.

Hundreds of them. Perhaps even thousands. They were lined up in perfect order, separated into battalions, creating a checker-board effect across the spartan hangar. Their singular yellow optics were fixated dead ahead, erringly focused on the _Darksyde_. They were large, each easily twenty-five feet, maybe more.

Smokescreen growled quietly, glaring at the screen. "This is why we needed a plan before we flew into this. Our chances just went from slim to _we're dead_."

A small blip at one of the stations had Worm looking down, jerking back to rapidly sign a message. There was no need to translate, though. The view screen showed exactly what was wrong. One of the hatches on the _Darksyde_ had been kicked open. Barricade was now sprinting headlong into the front ranks of the drones.

All hell broke lose.

Activated by the sudden movement, the drones all shifted into fight-ready stances. Those closest to the front advanced on Barricade. Barricade's flail was already out, arcing through the air and crashing into several drones' heads. Gunfire erupted as Autobots began to spill from the _Darksyde_ to back Barricade up. They threw themselves into the melee with a relish. Within moments, the bizarre grey-lit room had devolved into a frenzy.

In a rush, the bridge of the Decepticon ship emptied as everyone present ran to join the fight.

By the time Optimus and the others were able to immerse themselves into the brawl, Barricade had somehow managed to weave himself so deep into the fray that he was only visible when tossed above the riot. His flail worked wildly in one hand while the other wielded a gun vomiting streams of burning plasma.

A deafening roar reverberated through the hanger, trapped and amplified by the sounds of gunfire and war cries. With each Cybertronian that entered the fray, the frenzy of the fight seemed to amplify. Chaos broke out in all directions. Clashing fists met unyielding armour. Claws gouged out optics, ripped at vulnerable openings. Hidden blades, swords, and daggers flashed like lightning. Severed limbs flew away in the aftermath.

There was no rhyme or reason to the fight, no plan of attack or possible way to defend. So many drones were pouring in from all sides, the only way to stay alive was to keep shooting, keep kicking, punching, and clawing. Anything that bore the vague colours of grey or violet were torn apart. The push from all sides from the drones became a drowning tide. It was a nightmarish experience in claustrophobia; no room to move, turn, run, or transform. The only hope there was to get free of the mess was to scramble on top of the frames of fallen drones. One had to be brave enough to run across the shoulders of the writhing mass for a breath of cold, stale air. The false freedom only lasted as long as the moment it took to be pulled back down into the mash again.

By design, the drones were not battle-fiends. They were able to attack and defend to the capabilities of the Cybertronians mowing through their ranks. What the drones had been built for was science, not war. The only things they had going for them was their habit to swarm on a single bot if the individual looked weak, and their terribly thick armour. Short of ripping their processors or main pumps out, the fraggers didn't go down easy.

Worse yet was when the Cybertronians discovered how truly bizarre the place they were in was. In plain sight, it was an unnerving amalgam of grey-on-shadow and the sense of omnipresent optics. But to close ones' optics was to be assaulted with the sudden fury of flames. Surprise upon meeting the flames ended up besting a few of the warriors as they first encountered it; they jumped, trying to swing away from. Their split-astrosecond of distraction cost them dearly in footing. Drones would spot the weakness, swarming in.

Optimus pushed through the tide with desperate single-mindedness. His vision was awash in a churning sea of grey and violet, slashed through with a violent flash of yellow light. Every time a spark signature drew near, he called out to the battling bot. Their backs would meet for a short while, covering each other as they delivered wildfire into the drones, before breaking apart once more. As accomplished as he was on the battlefield, the situation, surrounded on all sides by an enemy that multiplied faster than turbo-rabbits, was a serious test of his skills. Currently, he had no one at his back for cover. Both blades in his forearms were out, slashing with wild fervour through the ranks of the drones. He spared them no mercy; heads severed, chests stabbed through. There would be no guilt in the aftermath for unthinking tools. As there would be sentient beings

Underlying the battle-rage was anxiousness. In the whorl of battle, Optimus couldn't tell if he was being shunted closer to Elita or if Elita was running toward him. Whatever the circumstance, the Prime's chassis would lick with blue lightning at different intervals. It was a distraction he did not need, yet welcomed it so wholly because it was evidence that his sparkmate was near.

A flash of yellow came into Optimus's line of sight as Bumblebee weaved into view. His battle-mask was down, while a long, sharp blade that looked as if it had been ripped from one of the drones' arms was clenched tight in his right hand.

"They just keep coming!" exclaimed the scout, slashing with his new weapon. "At this rate, we'll never get farther than this room. We'll be overpowered!"

"Keep fighting," Optimus grunted.

"That's all we can do, but-!" The scout leaped up onto one of the encroaching drones, stabbing repeatedly into the chest until it fell. As he straightened, he was forced onto another drone, with Optimus swooping in to defend his back. "There's a limit to what we can handle," Bumblebee said when he knew Optimus was close enough to hear him.

Steely determination laced Primes tone as he replied, "We can take them."

"If you say so." Bumblebee jerked a sharp nod, willing to keep fighting if the Prime had faith they could do it. He disappeared into the melee shortly after.

Sadly, faith did very little when you were being beaten down from every conceivable angle. No matter how many of their opponents were felled, more would come. There was no end to them. While the drones were tireless, the Cybertronians were not. Their frames were beginning to burn with exhaustion. The beating they were all taking was severe. They were dented, oozing energon, and some were missing limbs. No one was dead, but there were a few who felt like it. The grim reality of their suicide mission began to come to the forefront of their minds, with great emphasis on the suicide part.

Optimus stumbled backwards over a fallen frame, hitting the floor hard. His guard dropped for only a moment, but that was enough. The drones saw weakness and swarmed on it. The Prime braced himself for the thrashing to come, only to feel a large hand wrap around his arm and throw him up. Soundwave came into focus, using his superior size to crush the hordes of drones. His symbiotes were spread far and wide throughout the room, using their own considerable skills to fell drones that were several times their own size.

"This is a losing battle," growled the jet as he came back-to-back with Optimus.

"We must keep fighting," Optimus insisted.

"There is a difference between bravery and stupidity. We are crossing the line," Soundwave warned, his monotone voice roughened by draining energy and building exhaustion.

"Elita One is here! I can't just leave her here!" Optimus ducked and swerved, spinning around on himself in order to sever a head from its frame.

"Flamewar is also here," Soundwave said severely. "They are both strong femmes; if we opt for a tactical retreat, they will survive until we can attempt a proper rescue."

"I won't leave my sparkmate here!" Optimus snarled, taking on a tone that was much unlike himself. His next take-down was notably more vicious, reflecting the foul mood that was inspired by the thought of leaving his sparkmate behind.

"Fine, do as you will. _I_ will not ask my crew to sacrifice themselves needlessly," Soundwave retorted sharply. "We came unprepared and unaware of the extent of what we were facing. We must cut our losses now, escape, and prepare for a better attack."

"Would you leave Barricade behind?" Optimus accused roughly.

Soundwave cast a quick look over the heads of the crowd, confirming what he already suspected. "He's already beyond the room; there's nothing we can do for him now. You are Prime, Optimus. You cannot be left behind. You must sacrifice your mate this time in order to have a better chance to rescue her next time."

It took a long, hard moment for the reality to set in, but eventually Optimus nodded grimly. A tactical retreat would be for the best. He didn't like it, but he'd do it. Sometimes he hated being Prime more than anything. The times when duty came before his own spark were one of them.

"HEADS UP!" Wheeljack's voice suddenly boomed. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

A black canister-like contraption came sailing overhead, landing in a particularly thick mass of drones. The bomb detonated upon impact. Bright white light erupted in the hanger, so real and alive and that blinded any and all optics that caught a glimpse before they could duck. A rumbling roar rolled through the hanger as the explosion grew, incinerating every drone within reach. Waves of blistering heat washed through the hanger, enough to overpower the preternatural cold that filled the void of anti-space. There was no crater left in the singed floor, but a huge chunk of drones now lay in ashes. What remained of the standing drones were frozen in place, left stunned by the aftershock and awaiting new orders.

The grey fake-light was gone, the gloom pierced by the hull lights that were still active on the _Darksyde_. There was no more preternatural cold sinking into their frames. Seemingly evaporated by the heat of Wheeljack's bomb, the cold that assaulted them now was the regular touch of the vacuum of space. It felt very much like a spell had been shattered.

"Wheeljack, you're a genius!" Ratchet crowed across the hangar.

"I know!" the engineer joyously hollered back.

"We must fall back," Soundwave ordered gravely for everyone to hear, motioning for the _Darksyde_. "We have to leave or we die."

* * *

"Just a little farther," Elita urged as Flamewar pounded through the twisting halls.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Flamewar howled, skidding around yet another corner as directed by the femme on her back.

"No, I don't. You have to trust me- just keep running," Elita pleaded, her arm flexing tighter around Flamewar's neck. "Please, you have to trust me."

"Whatever- just get us out of here alive." Flamewar grimaced, her wounded leg throbbing as she continued to run on it. Not that she had a choice. She couldn't stop to rest, not if she wanted to get out. The fact of the matter was that she _did_ trust Elita One. For some awful reason, she trusted the crazy slip of metal and wires. Even when the floors and corridors changed as they ran through them, Elita maintained a strange, unshakable confidence as she issued directions.

"Take a right, another right, and then wait an astrosecond for the walls to shift and run down the corridor that appears," ordered the femme.

Flamewar grunted, swinging a wide arc into the next right they came upon. There were drones in the corridor, charging them the moment they caught sight of the lose femmes. Flamewar snapped into action immediately. Confident that Elita would be able to hang on with her arm and legs, she freed her own arms for a proper fight. Not that she was fighting "proper" in any case. She fought quick and dirty, felling the drones and then ripping off the laser-cutter attached to one of their arms to use as a weapon. Straightening, shaking off her new coating of energon, Flamewar took off running again, down the second right, skidding to a stop as the walls continued to shift, and then bolting down the tunnel that appeared.

Halfway down, a great arc of blue light lashed away from her chest. Her spark soared, recognizing who was near. She suddenly put on a new burst of speed, flying into the corridor on the other side of the tunnel. The sight that met the femmes there was of Barricade wedged deep into a fight, frame moving like a blur as he engaged in hand-to-hand combat with whomever got too close. His flail was useless in the close quarters of the hall. He obviously sensed Flamewar drawing near, because his movement became even more frenzied to work his way through.

"Barricade!" Flamewar yelled, unable to decide if she was stunned, elated, or downright furious to see her mate.

"Flamewar! I'm here to rescue you!" exclaimed the minibot before becoming lost in the fray.

Elita pulled herself up to Flamewar's audio. "Seven drones: aim high and you won't hit the mech."

With a burning glance to the laser-cutter clenched in her hand, Flamewar charged her makeshift weapon and aimed high. She wasn't much of a shot, being that hand-to-hand was her speciality. However, with this kind of distance, she'd be damned to miss. As the first head was severed with the high-powered laser, Barricade dropped low. He was at least ten feet shorter than the drones, but didn't want to press his luck with his mate's aim. Once the light show was over, Barricade straightened, facing his mate's exhausted yet smirking faceplate.

"Who's rescuing who?" she drawled.

Barricade ran to her, sweeping her into an embrace. "Dammit, you can rescue me any orn so long as you let me take you home," he growled, rubbing the side of his faceplate to hers. He'd never experience as much relief in his life as he was now.

"Fine by me," Flamewar laughed, giving a one-armed hug in return. "We'll have time for the warm-happy moments when we get out of here. Right now, you gotta lead us out."

"Us?" Barricade leaned away, catching the optic of the strange creature wrapped around his mate's back. "A friend of yours, I presume?"

"Elita One," piped the strange femme, offering a weak nod. "We have to move now. The others will leave without us if we don't hurry. Run straight, take a left, a right, and we should drop into the hangar."

Seeing Barricade about to question the directions, Flamewar gripped his wrist and forced him to run. "Don't question it: just do it!"

They ran with the last of their strength, letting the edges of their vision blur, their vents heave, and their limbs burn. What they didn't realize while following Elita's directions was that when she said 'drop in' she literally meant it. Psi had twisted himself up so thoroughly on the inside that up was down and down was up. As Barricade and the femmes came to the end of Elita's directions, the floor beneath them promptly opened up and gravity took hold.

Their surprised shrieks drew the notice of the retreating bots below.

"Flying drones?" Bluestreak squealed, hefting his rifle to pick the three free-falling bots from the air.

"Don't shoot!" Barricade roared. His voice was enough to be identified by.

Soundwave moved swiftly, swiping the three bots from certain death as they came near enough to catch.

"How the pit did you get up there?" Ratchet demanded, optics shooting to the ceiling where there was no evidence to be seen of trapdoors or holes to fall through.

"Don't ask," Flamewar snapped, wriggling to be set down. "I want out of this pit-hole right now!"

Elita One shot up, her optics flashing bright and wide. A bright arc of blue flashed between her and a figure who was burnished in flames, yet she held no fear of him. She welcomed the sight of him. "Optimus!"

Heedless of the condition of his sparkmate, Optimus Prime ran for his mate in order to bring her into his arms. His voice was rough with emotion as he managed to call her designation, _"Elita One."_

"You're real! Oh Primus, you're real!" exclaimed the femme, burying her faceplate into her sparkmate's armour. She felt her spark swell in its case, soaring and fluttering, but for once there was no pain. No pain at all. Only joy. Around them lashed blue lightning, but they were heedless of it.

Optimus was in awe of the creature he held, running his hand over her frame as if to memorize her once more. He saw her as his spark saw her: the most gorgeous creature he'd ever laid optics on. "You're okay. Dear Primus, I'm so sorry. I should have known you were here. I should have come for you sooner."

Elita gripped him with surprising strength, as if magnetically adhered to him. She wasn't going to be letting go any time soon. "Don't think about it. You're here now- that's what counts." She stroked his faceplate in wonder. "I can't believe you're real. You're more handsome than I remember."

"Prime, we don't have time!" Prowl yelled as he stood at the top of the _Darksyde_'s ramp ushering everyone in. Smokescreen was standing opposite to Prowl, waving violently for everyone to get their afts in gear. Both tacticians looked beaten within an inch of their lives, their doorwings ripped off and large sections of their armour missing.

Cradling Elita close, Optimus turned and sprinted for the ramp. He was the last up, the hatch closing behind him.

Elita lifted her head to watch the last sliver of her prison disappear. She couldn't name the emotion that flooded her. She was free. _Free_. Yet she couldn't bring herself to fly apart with joy. Not when the last thing she saw of the Fallen's insides was a drone's optic turn burning amber as it met her gaze, lifting its hand to wiggle its fingers teasingly in goodbye. _"Until we meet again, my pet."_ The hatch hissed closed, locking in place.

The symbiotes were at the controls, charging the _Darksyde_'s engines. Sparing no expense, they unloaded most of the ship's firepower into the nearest wall. The wall itself wasn't damaged, but it retracted on itself like a living thing jerking away from a painful sting. There were stars beyond the gaping hole. Thrusters engaged to full power, wrenching the _Darksyde_ ahead so hard it threw everyone to the floor. Whoever was piloting was either too eager to get out, or he underestimated the dimensions of the ship compared to their way to freedom; a shrieking screech came though the hull as the right flight-stabilizer was sheered from the side of the ship.

Flung back into normal space, they thought they were home free. Instead, things were about to get a thousand times worse. Behind them, the black hole stretching into anti-space was ripped wide. The Fallen's full form came through; a monolithic ship of impossible size. Easily the mass of the North and South American continents, possibly more. Black metal as dark as the space between the stars. It stretched so far in every direction that it appeared to go on forever. Without warning, its whole mass was on fire. Horrible, furious, roaring pit-fire.

Elita went rigid. "Brace for impact."

The energy wave that hit them was so strong that it flipped them nose-over-thruster several times. Without their right flight-stabilizer, there was little chance of getting themselves under control. When the second furious attack hit, it ripped the _Darksyde_'s hanger open. The sudden vacuum created sucked every bot in the hangar out into space. They were all too close to Earth's atmosphere, too weak too pull away from the drag of gravity. Armour was shed and protoforms donned as, one by one, they began to burn up in the atmosphere.

Except for Elita One. She had no protoform.


	52. unRest for the Weary

An interim between the two-part climax? Oh yes, because this story is climaxing long and hard. XD

**Flameshield**- Glad you enjoyed the chapter~ Thanks so much for your review! ^_^

**Novablaster**- But if she died, that would be incredibly dramatic, don't you think? =P

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~! =D

**GBscientist**- You're right, the people of Earth aren't known for doing just nothing, but whenever we do try to get involved, we tend to make things worse before it gets better... I think nuking the Fallen would definitely make things worse before they got better. O,o

**Dramastar-Mel-** You have no idea how thrilled I am that you enjoy my portrayal of Flamewar! She's not about to become a damsel in distress for anyone, not even her mate! XD As for Elita's fate, you'll just have to read on to find out. Her death would be incredibly dramatic, don't you think? =P

**Queen of the Red Skittle**- You're a very clever one, you are. =) I'm not surprised that you've noticed everyone's stories bleeding together. Many loose ends are going to be tied up, yes, but there will be a few live wires left sparking. In the roller coaster that is the process of the final climax, there's very little room for heartfelt reunions, but I do hope to make up for it in the aftermath. ^_^

**KyuubiSango**- Heh, I specialize on sending readers on roller coaster rides. =P Thanks so much for the review~ Hope you enjoy the latest chapter! ^_^

**Lecidre**- Oh, but if I killed Elita, wouldn't that be dreadfully dramatic? *o* You'll just have to read on to find out her fate... Those who had held her prisoner all these years are not likely to let her go without a fight. . As for Doubledealer's death- I consider it a point of pride that I was able to render you speechless in English. It means I wrote the scene right! =D As sad and horrible as the scene was, it's always amazing when I can make an emotional impact on my readers. =)

**King of Pain**- Oh yes, Psi is a rather large being, and ticking him off is never wise... As for why Dealer would fight Punch/Counterpunch when they are both his friend- Dealer valued his own life above their's. He wasn't above killing someone else in order to live. =( Thank you so much for for your review and compliments~ You're too kind. =)

**Balrog Rioke**- Psi is, perhaps, one of the universe's sorest losers. He hates it when things don't go his way, as demonstrated by what he did to Jazz. . The Cybertronians will have no hell of a fight on their hands against him. In the future, there will come a time when Elita will have her say with the Fallen. It may be a time yet, but she will have her chance, I promise.

**Sebastian Nyte**- Dear god, your review made me so happy. You're so enthusiastic it made me want to go back and reread the chapter! I can't make any promises for Elita's fate, so you'll just have to read to find out! =P

**Chloo**- I had to laugh at your Cosmos suggestion. It's a good one, but not going to happen here. Elita's fate is something you will have to discover in this chapter. =P It's great that you enjoyed the chaos that the Fallen embodies inside and out, whether there be a battle raging in him, or if he's goading a battle on somewhere outside him. His official title being 'Psi, Guardian of Entropy' or just plain 'Chaos', a little bit of madcap craziness is practically a given. XD There shall be more chaos in the following chapters, I promise, And after that, warm fuzzies for everyone (hopefully)! 8D

**Litahatchee**- Haha, it's awesome that a story like this could get stuck in the mind of a writer as brilliant as you~ I'm glad that after all this time, this story can still pull you along on the emotional roller coaster. ^_^ I was actually thinking of you when writing the Doubledealer scene... not that I wanted to shoot you in the head of anything, lol~ Remember e-mailing back and forth about different versions of the scene? That was like... a year or two ago! XD Times sure have changed. ^_^; It's strange how close the end is now, after so long of trying to get here...

Special shout out to **FunkFish1991** for her brilliant proofing and advice~ She is the salt to my pepper. ^_^

**As We Come Together  
In Which there is (un)Rest for the Weary**

"You know, I didn't think I was going to be a virgin when the end of the world happened," Miles sighed offhandedly as he watched the world blur by through the back window of the Banes' Honda Civic.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Mikaela laughed from the front seat.

"Because Miles screams 'I'm a 40-year-old virgin'?" Sam offered teasingly.

"Where's the love?" Miles sighed, theatrically heartbroken. He reached across to Mikaela, tugging on her shirt sleeve. His grin was predictably cheesy and goofy as he said, "There's a simple way to remedy my virginity, you know," complete with eyebrow wiggle at the end.

"I am _not_ helping you with that," Mikaela replied, still laughing, smacking Miles' hand away.

"Aw, and here I thought you were my friend," Miles pouted.

"'_Friend_' does not equate to 'f_uck buddy_', blondie," intoned the driver of the car, her black eyes glittering in the rear view mirror.

"Dash my dreams, why don't you?" With a deterred sniff, Miles sat back for a moment before it donned on him that Mikaela was not his only female option in the car. He leaned forward eagerly again. "You'd be my friend, right, Chase?"

Chase snorted, catching the blond's stare in the rear view mirror again. "Yeah, sure, kid- if only that wasn't considered statutory rape in this country."

"But it's the end of the world! Where's your sense of adventure?" Miles whined, rocking the back of the driver's seat.

"I'm pretty sure I used up my sense of adventure the day an alien landed on my truck," she replied, taking one of Miles' fingers and twisting it until the blond released her seat.

"Ow- ow- ow -ow-!" Miles peeled away to nurse his finger. _"Fine, _be that way." Giving up hope on either female, Miles turned to his last option; his best friend, the one guy in the world who would be there for him no matter what. "Dude, you're my only hope. Don't let me die a virgin."

Sam stared like a deer caught in headlights for a long moment, and then leaned as far away from his friend as physically possible. "No way in hell."

"But-!"

"No."

Miles twiddled his thumbs. "What about that one time, at band camp..."

Sam's face went cherry-red. "Miles, shut up!"

The Banes women suddenly howled with laughter.

"Band camp, huh? That sounds interesting," Mikaela teased. "What kind of crazy things did you two get up to?"

Sam nearly seizured in the backseat, his ears and neck now joining the cherry-red of his face. "No, it was an accident, I swear! It was dark out and I thought he was a girl!"

"That's not what you told me! You called me beautiful and said I was a great guitarist!" Miles exclaimed.

Sam, being true to his high-strung nature, turned even redder in the face and began to flail around, spluttering all kinds of explanations. This only made the Banes women laugh harder. Miles happily made it worse, dropping vague hints of what supposedly happened that fateful summer at band camp. Nothing had _actually_ happened, though. Other than Sam awkwardly trying to compliment a pretty girl at night when everyone was making their way back to the cabins, only to discover the pretty girl was Miles, the summer had been very tame. Miles had been very complimented at the time.

And, of course, what kind of best friend would Miles be if he didn't bring band camp up at every opportunity?

Plus, if everyone was laughing, it meant they weren't freaking. Sometimes the only way to deal with really tense situations was with a bit of humour. All things considered, they were all in a _very_ tense situation. So they needed quite a bit of humour to deal with it.

From the crack of dawn, the news had been nothing but a frenzy of panicked reporters giving a play-by-play of the 'unknown alien menace' from the moment it had appeared. When the _Darksyde_ had taken off into the atmosphere and the news now devoid of an alien ship to exclaim over, the hours had been filled with interviews made with rabid alien-enthusiasts exclaiming that their neighbours were aliens, scientists trying to explain the phenomenon, and the military making it worse by telling people to calm down. If there was anything that ever could make a bad situation worse, it was telling the public to _calm down_. Everyday functions of life still attempted to operate under the mass hysteria, though not to the best effect. For the most part, every human on Earth had enacted a personal DEFCON 1 danger level and was fending for themselves.

In light of this, Sam, Mikaela, and Miles had not seen it prudent to bother with school. Thanks to their association with the Cybertronians, they knew more about the "alien threat" than the entire planet. As such, they couldn't decide if they should be panicking less than everyone else or panicking more. Since they'd opted out of school, they gathered at Mikaela's house instead, glad for the island of calm the Banes' place provided. Initially, the peace could be attributed to Chase being asleep until noon. After Chase had woken up, the place stayed calm because she couldn't bring herself to care whether the world was ending or not.

As soon as their lone adult group member could be appealed upon to give a damn, Mikaela and company convinced her to drive them out to the Autobots' base for answers. So that's exactly what they were doing; cramped into the small grey Civic, driving down a dusty, abandoned highway, the radio turned off because they didn't want to hear any more of the doomsday news spewing out of it. Laughing felt like the only way to keep their sanity.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, fighting the distinct throb of a major headache pounding just behind his eyes. He'd woken up with the slight throb, only to have it get worse the longer he was subjected to all the crazy shit happening. The painkiller he'd taken earlier might as well have been made of air for all the good it was doing him. He was also beginning to feel fevered, his chest growing tighter like he was dealing with some kind of asthma attack, even though he knew he was no asthmatic. Maybe he was coming down with a cold? Whatever the case, the pressure kept building in his head.

Mikaela noticed Sam's ashen face in the rear view mirror. He wasn't laughing anymore, looking downright sick by the looks of things. Snapping out of her seatbelt, she turned around in her seat to touch his face with the back of her hand. His cheek was warmer than it should have been.

"You don't look so good," she said.

"My head's pounding, that's all," Sam murmured, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

Mikaela pursed her lips. "Still? I thought you took something for that..."

"Guess it didn't work."

"Well, just hold on a little longer- we're almost to the base. Dr. Spring can take a look at you," Mikaela sighed, brushing his cheek with her knuckles.

He shrugged, patting his girlfriend's hand as a reassurance of some kind. A small jolt of static electricity passed between them, causing Mikaela to jump away with a muted "ouch!" and Sam drew away sheepishly. "Sorry." He sighed, letting his forehead rest against the cool glass of the window. He closed his eyes and attempted to tune out the sound of Miles' excited voice chattering in the background.

He dozed for a few minutes- not quite heavily sleeping, though not quite awake either. The vague impression of a dream crossed his mind- electric blue everywhere accompanied by the sound of his name being called. It was enough to wake him up. His eyes shot open, suddenly flung headfirst into a living nightmare.

"Oh my god." Sam pressed himself to the window, transfixed by the sight of the horror. From horizon to horizon, the sky was literally on fire. A rain of flaming, black meteorites were heading straight for them. Barring none, this was the absolute worst nightmare he had ever had. "Shit- shit- shit-!" The car swerved, bashing his head against the glass; in that moment, he knew this was more that just a dream. It was _real_. "Fuck."

Looking out into the daylight turned to hell-light, Sam's headache turned to monstrous proportions. Over the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears, he could vaguely make out the furious panic rising around him. Everyone was screaming something. The Civic's engine was even screaming as it was thrown into overdrive, all meters hitting max as Chase rammed the accelerator to the floor. They were close to base, but not close enough.

The first of the meteors passed over the car, so close that its immense heat shot straight through the frame of the car and seared its occupants. It was a massive ball of smoldering black metal, nearly three or four times the size of the Civic. Its tailwind was so strong as it passed overhead, it threw the Civic off the road, skidding on the roof. Not even a second later, the meteorite hit ground with the force of a bomb detonating. The Civic was thrown in the air again, glass from all the windows exploding in everyone's faces. They came down again on their side, pinning the driver's side doors against the ground.

Long moments passed in the aftermath. A singularity of bizarre calm that was at odds with the havoc surrounding the area. Meteors continued to land. The sky continued to rage as in inferno. But the Civic and its occupants were silent.

Despite his pounding head, Sam was the first to regain his senses. It was just like it was at Mission City; the searing heat, muffled deafness brought on by shell-shock, and the bizarre slow-motion horror of events unfolding around him. He could taste blood in his mouth, his wrist felt broken, but at least he was alive. His seatbelt, having done its job of keeping him safe, was now strangling him as gravity dragged him down. Deaf and numb, Sam's good hand scrabbled weakly at the buckle, releasing him to drop on the body below. Matted blond hair came into his vision.

"Miles?" Sam called, not even able to hear his own voice.

Miles convulsed, perhaps in recognition of his own name. His hands shot to his face, body writhing. His mouth opened wide, but what came out was one long, continuous scream. Bloodied saliva quickly frothed at the corners of his lips. Blood poured between his spasming fingers. Shards of jagged glass glittered like diamond-knives sticking out of his skin.

"Oh god..." Sam gulped, feeling like he was going to vomit. He reached down, contorting his body through the wreck in order to get at Miles' seatbelt. Each time he got his fingers around the buckle, a new meteor would hit, the aftershocks throwing the car around as if it were dust. "Shit... fucking shit..." He was probably suffering from some kind of concussion. He couldn't focus properly. The world kept blacking out. Was he supposed to feel like a million jolts of electricity were racing through him?

Above him, the doors of the Civic were ripped off.

"I got'cha, humans," assured someone from above. The metallic twang to his voice revealed him as Cybertronian. He reached in with a large hand- only one, because he appeared to be missing the other- and tried to take Sam. A hard jolt of electricity passed between them, shocking the Autobot enough to yelp and jerk away.

Sam blinked up at the red Lamborghini, squinting as the backlight of fire in the sky darkened the Autobot's features. "Sorry?" he mumbled.

"Humans normally don't carry such a high charge," Perceptor said, revealing that he was close at hand as well.

An emergency vehicle sat next to the robots, Dr. Spring anxiously standing on the roof in order to see into the wreck of the car. "We don't have time for you probing the victims, Perceptor. We must get them out of here quickly. Your people are still coming down and I don't want to risk us being crushed." She directed her gaze to Sideswipe, who was still shaking out his shocked hand. "The two on the bottom look the worse. Be very careful lifting them out. We don't want to make their injuries worse."

"Don't worry, I got it," assured the red mech. There was a bit of hesitation as he reached for Sam again, but when no shock came, he lifted the boy out. With the help of Perceptor and two human nurses, Sam was set down in a seat in the back of the emergency vehicle. Things were administered by injection, making his body even more numb; his wrist was set, stitches quick applied. Sam barely noticed the work. His eyes darted up when Miles appeared, held in Perceptor's arms. Blood was now spattered across the microbot's copper-hued armour, bloody hand prints on his faceplate, gore down his chassis. Miles was set down on a gurney, convulsing in agony and terror.

"A shard of glass has pierced the boy's left ocular unit," Perceptor announced, peeling Miles' hands away from his face.

Sam felt bile roll up his throat at the sight of blood and watery eye-jelly running down his best friend's face. Perceptor did not stop murmuring in the boy's ear, a strange mix of noises that were somewhere between English and Cybertronian. While he did so, he expertly injected local anaesthetic. Several of Dr Spring's helpers converged on the boy the moment they knew the drug was working. With a careful tug, the glass was out and as much gauze as possible was packed into the wound.

"Is he going to be okay?" Sam tried to ask, but found that he didn't recognize the sounds he was making. One nurse kept trying to talk to him, telling him not to fall asleep. A part of Sam knew it was important to stay awake, but a more insistent part demanded to know if Miles was okay. He kept asking, becoming more panicked the longer he went without an answer. Or maybe they were giving him the answer and he simply didn't understand. There wasn't a lot of room in the back of the emergency vehicle, so when he started to panic in earnest, Dr Spring applied her signature move; distracting him with a soft word and a touch to the shoulder, she slipped a hidden needle from up her sleeve into Sam's arm, sedating him. There was a moment of struggle as he realized he'd been drugged, then everything went hazy...

Mikaela was brought into the back next. She was unconscious, limp in Sideswipe's hand as the warrior gently tipped her onto a gurney. Dr Spring assessed her critically, shouted some orders, and then dived out when Sideswipe yelled for help. The last human to be lifted out of the car proved to be the most difficult to extract. The accident, coupled with the constant explosion-like impacts of Cybertronians landing, had driven Chase into a PTSD episode. Sideswipe couldn't get his hands into the car without Chase becoming even more frenzied. She was only injuring herself further as she twisted about, driving glass and jagged plastic deeper into her flesh, clawing at herself as she relived the worse moments of her life.

Above them, a deafening groan rolled like thunder through the air. The _Darksyde_ was coming down. Nothing was going to stop it. Its blackened, flaming underbelly eclipsed the sky, shedding twisted scraps of metal from the hull as it fell. It was in a death-descent, the last flight it would ever have. Its current angle was wide enough that it would crash a few miles away. Unfortunately, even if it was not right on top of them, the ship was still large enough to create from major damage for miles around if it crashed.

Several protoform-meteors ejected from the ship, low enough in the atmosphere to be spared from burning up. Sunstreaker, who was acting as a sentry-guard for the small rescue party, noted the angle of the protoforms. They were heading straight for the ground. Straight for them. A low growl rumbled in his chassis as he tensed for a possible fight with whoever or whatever was coming down.

Sideswipe cast a panicked glance back at the _Darksyde_, and then down at the human he was trying to save. When the ship hit, there was a good chance all the humans were going to get caught in the fatal blast. The ones already injured were liable to die. Damn the little organics- if only they had armour like a Cybertronian! Dr Spring kept shouting things in his audio in English while Perceptor was ordering things in Cybertronian. Behind him, Sunstreaker managed to distract him further with a sudden increase in tension and a deep growl rolling through him.

"We're out of time," Sunstreaker announced, turning away from the carnage to grab Dr Spring and the other humans running around. He threw them into the back the emergency vehicle and clamped the doors shut, hoping that that would be enough to protect them. As he did so, a slow, deep rumble began to shake the air and earth. It was like thunder, but deeper, louder, angrier; the beginning of the _Darksyde's _crushing death.

"Damn it," Sideswipe growled, stretching himself over the Civic in hopes that he could shield the human within from the worse of the blast.

As the first hot blast of ash and dust was upon them, three protoforms crashed within a few yards of them. The newcomers wrenched themselves to their feet, physically snapping parts into place to speed up their transformations. Hound was the first to resume proper form, dropping to his knees in order to tear the Civic's roof off. Chase became even more frenzied as sand and dust poured in. He ripped her out, tucking her close to his chest.

"It's alright- Ah got ya. Ah'll protect ya." His shoulder mount whirred to life, accompanied by the sounds of Trailbreaker's and Mirage's charging generators. They were weak from exhaustion, with only enough charge for this one combined effort. Their fields collided in midair, forming a protective shield. The air still burned hot with singed dirt and ash, the earth cracking and shifting as several hundred thousand tons of metal collapsed and exploded on itself, yet the shield stood. It was enough to keep the chaos at bay, for now.

Sideswipe stared up at the three bots, relief evident on his faceplate. **"You have **_**really**_** good timing." **

"**We just thought we'd drop in,"** Mirage said grimly, the majority of his focus invested in maintaining his part of the force field. He was far from his pristine self, bearing the marks of a hard battle fought- armour missing, wires sparking. The last of his energy reserves were being used up as they spoke.

"**What the hell went on up there?"** Sunstreaker growled, sharp optics searching through the maelstrom for any sign of what was happening beyond. It was a damn disturbing thing not to know what the pit was going on. Where was the flaming ship? The other Autobots? Decepticons? Had anything else followed them down?

"**It was a damned slaughter," **Trailbreaker replied darkly. **"We were outmatched a thousand to one. We're lucky we got out at all- even if we're not all in one piece."** He was missing the lower half of his left arm, one of his optic lenses cracked, a trickle of energon running down his faceplate.

"**Did everyone get out of the **_**Darksyde **_**before it crashed****?"** Perceptor enquired, nodding to the epicentre of the exploding chaos. "**Please tell me you three were the last to eject."**

Mirage and Trailbreaker exchanged hardened looks, shaking their heads sombrely. There was no telling if everyone got out alive.

The front windows of the emergency vehicle rolled down, Dr. Spring's head peering out. She blinked owlishly up at the gigantic sentries standing over her, and then glared out at the dust storm blacking out the sky. "Brilliant. We'll be picking sand out of the ventilation systems for weeks," she sighed, and then considered the robots around her. "Your vents and joints are going to suffer if you let the ash build up in them. Are you going to be okay out there?"

"We've survived worse," Sunstreaker said, scowling.

"That doesn't mean you're immortal," Dr Spring replied. "If there's going to be more fighting, at least be careful." As familiar as she was with the hard realities of war, that didn't mean she could accept them. She didn't like it when her human friends got hurt, and she disliked the idea of her alien friends being hurt even more because she wouldn't be able to help them like she could a human. Her sharp gaze turned to Hound's crouched form, his attention divided between holding up the force field and cradling the reddish-brown smudge of human he held hidden in his hands. Noting that Chase's screaming had stopped, the doctor asked, "How is she?"

"Not good," Hound sighed, lowering his hands for the doctor. "Ah think the stress was too much." Chase laid limp in the cradle of his palms, eyes open but glazed over. Her body was drenched in a sticky mixture of blood and feverish sweat, her chest rising and falling rapidly, panting shallowly. Hound's worry was obvious as he held her out. "Will she be alright?"

Dr Spring shook her head. "I can't say for sure, Hound. Get her in the back and I'll see what I can do for her wounds, but her mind... I can't just flick a switch like you can with a Cybertronian." She disappeared into the vehicle, reappearing as the back door kicked open. "Come on, there's not a lot of room left, but she'll be safe in here."

Hound shuffled around on his knees, hissing as a joint in his knee seized. He stayed as steady as possible, gently tipping his human onto a bare strip of floor, the only space open for her. Chase remained catatonic, even at the icy touch of the metal floor against her skin. On the gurney above her, Mikaela laid as still and as silent as death. As Hound withdrew, he gently ran his fingers over both females. "Be careful with them, okay?"

"Of course." Dr Spring assured, eyebrows arching as if insulted that anyone would think any less. She peered around the Autobot to the settling dust held beyond the dome of the force field. "It looks like the worst of it is over. It's best they get to the hospital on base as soon as possible."

"Drop the shields, then," Mirage said.

"Yes." Dr Spring snapped the doors closed, waiting for the implied order to be carried out.

With pained groans, the three Autobots dropped their force fields with only wisps of their reserve energy left. Wasted, they dropped to their knees, vents heaving desperately. The emergency vehicle kicked up hot dust as it left, veering through the hazy landscape in search of refuge in the medical facilities. On its way, it crossed paths with the trio of Cybertronians approaching. Blaster was in the lead, zipping along in his alt mode with Jazz right on his aft, Virus sitting astride the saboteur's roof. They skidded to a dusty stop, coming so close that Perceptor was toppled backwards. Blaster snapped up into his bipedal mode, dragging his fellow microbot back to his feet, beating the dirt off him.

"Everyone is converging on our position," announced the communications officer, corroborated by the dark shapes moving throughout the hazy desert plain toward them. With their details obscured, they looked like a sparse pack of zombies stumbling blindly in the direction of the beacon Blaster was sending out. "As far as I can tell, I'm counting everyone- I think... It's hard to tell. Some bots' transmitters aren't working. No one was caught on the _Darksyde_, though. Scanned it before it came down."

"Thank Primus," Hound sighed, sagging on the ground where he sat.

"Don't thank him just yet. Ah doubt he's even here right now," Jazz intoned gravely as he transformed, throwing his beetle-green passenger off his roof. Virus hissed and scuttled away. The saboteur turned his blind gaze to the sky- a useless gesture when he couldn't see a damn thing. However, he was able to _feel_ the looming darkness above. Perhaps he was better equipped than anyone to feel it, having stared into the centre of the storm once, the night he'd broken his deal with the Fallen. Even if it had been the last thing he'd ever seen. Jazz smirked mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Yep, Primus ain't got nothin' ta do with this."

It was a silent procession as the broken and weary gathered. As their damages grew more apparent, the scene became more like a parade of the walking dead. No one was spared the marks of a hard battle fought- most were missing large slates of armour from their arms and legs, though some were simply gouged deep enough to pierce energon lines and crack the endoskeleton. Anything crystalline-glass on them was shattered, in some cases including their optics. Trails of energon formed haunting rivers down their frames, lines of gore caked black with ash and dirt.

Pure exhaustion was evident on all faceplates. The ones too tired to stand fell to the dirt and laid there. While the battle had been relatively quick compared to others, it had been difficult. Like fighting the many-headed hydra of human myth; as soon as one drone fell, three more would appear. There had been no end to the enemy. But their disturbance of mind ran deeper than that. Contact with the Fallen ship left them internally shaken, questioning everything they thought they knew. The lines between reality and mythology felt like they were blurring,

No one could figure out if they had won or not. A cold, hollow feeling ate them from the inside out, so exhausted that victory was only a backwards afterthought compared to the thought of the beating they just took.

The last of the stragglers slowly came into view. Just a small handful- Prowl and Smokescreen leaning on each other, Optimus acting as a crutch for Soundwave even as the jet used one of his landing struts as a cane. Flamewar was practically carrying her mate back, much to Barricade's embarrassment.

Jazz might not have been able to see his lover, but he damn well knew the mech was hurting. It was only right that he go to him. Sensing his approach, Prowl tried to avoid it by turning away, though was prevented by Smokescreen. Jazz slid his arm around Prowl carefully, supporting his weight. Smokescreen patted the tactician on the shoulder tiredly, a silent warning to stay with Jazz for his own good, before wandering away to check on others. Prowl then found himself alone in the saboteur's care, much to his distress. The longer he stayed, the more intensely unworthy he felt. Jazz, for all intents and purposes, had no intention of letting his lover go, despite Prowl's discomfort. He pressed his hand to the centre of Prowl's back, sharing a strong magnetic pulse. The tension wires in the tactician's back that had been painfully tight since his doorwings had been ripped off instantaneously relaxed. Sudden relief flooded the mech as he was finally able to move without extreme discomfort.

"Better?" Jazz asked quietly.

"Much," Prowl replied, less averse to leaning on his lover now.

The saboteur nodded upwards, to the Fallen. "Believe meh now?"

Prowl's gaze darkened. "Yes. I would be a fool not to believe you now." He ran a gentle finger down on of the gouges running down Jazz's faceplate. "I should have believed you sooner."

Jazz brushed the gentle touch away, smirking as he did so. "Not your style. Ah would'a thought there was somethin' wrong with ya if ya believed a crazy story like that right away." He glided around Prowl so he was standing in front of him, his arm still offering support. With his free arm, Jazz laced it around Prowl's neck to bring his faceplate down. Their foreheads touched gently. "From now on, though, you're gonna believe every word Ah say, or Ah'm gonna kick your aft."

"I make no promises." Prowl smiled weakly, still ashamed of the part he played in taking away Jazz's sight, but aware that Jazz had long since forgiven him for it.

"Good," Jazz replied, releasing Prowl so they could both straighten and back away. "If ya stopped fightin' meh at every turn, ya wouldn't be interestin' no more."

Nearby, Chromia was murmuring things far more explicit to Ironhide. As tired, injured, and dirty as they were, never had they been more turned on. Life-threatening situations did that for them. Made them feel more alive than ever before. As soon as this whole debacle was over, they were going to shake the earth in a few different ways.

Not-so-nearby, Bluestreak sat on the ground with his legs pulled up to his chest, doing what he did best. He was talking. About everything and anything. He wasn't normally a stutterer, but every once in a while, he would stutter, spasm as an unwelcome memory replayed in his head, and then sit for a breem staring silently ahead before jolting back into talking again. Almost non-stop chatter to whoever was listening. No one was listening. Not that Bluestreak noticed. He just needed to talk, regardless of the listener. The only bot who might have looked like he was listening was Punch, who was so traumatized that all he did was sit on the ground and rock back and forth.

Through the various low murmuring of the Cybertronians, Ratchet was the loudest. Clearly being beaten halfway to the pit and back did not dampen his enthusiasm for chastising others. Since his favourite two victims of his ire were among the few who had not been involved in the fight, he was investing himself twofold in snapping at everyone else. He was just one medic, with enough injuries being laid at his feet to take him weeks to fix it all. No one was fatally wounded, thank Primus, but repairs were going to be a glitch.

The least hurt of the collection, namely those who had not been involved in the suicide mission, migrated to the edges of the small group. From there, they acted as sentries, allowing their comrades to find some much needed rest. The Fallen remained in the sky, one giant flaming mass of a nightmare, though he failed to make a move to attack to fall back. It appeared that he was content simply to loom above the planet.

As Optimus and Soundwave approached, Prime broke away from the jet to consult with the nearest Autobots.

"Has anyone seen Elita One?"

Bumblebee twittered, casting an anxious glance around. "She got sucked out of the _Darksyde_, didn't she?"

"Yes," Optimus confirmed solemnly, his gaze heavy.

"That isn't good," Ratchet intoned grimly as he eased away from the quick round of field-surgery he was performing on Knockout. "She was quite damaged as it was..."

"She's alive," Optimus cut in, firmly dissuading any arguments otherwise. "I just... can't figure out where she is." He could _feel_ his mate. Feel her as he had when inside the Fallen; everywhere and nowhere. She was ridiculously close, yet still he couldn't pinpoint her. Whatever had happened to her on the demon ship had changed their bond somehow. At the very least, it had changed her spark.

Bumblebee gripped his commander's hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We'll find her. She can't be far."

Largely ignoring the Cybertronians around her, Virus circled around the large black meteorite that had crashed to Earth first. It was the lone object to come to Earth that failed to revert to a Cybertronian form. Thankful of the fact that she had been able to reset partial parameters to her visual recognition subroutines, Virus was able to identify the meteorite as relatively large, though not shaped as a protoform should be. Instead of a comet, it was a sphere whose surface was made of distorted metal melted from the high-temperatures of re-entry. Running her fingers over the curve of the object, movement from within inspired a morbid kind of curiosity.

"There's someone inside," she announced, mostly to herself. She dug her fingers into a shallow seam in the cocoon, bracing herself to pull the chunk free. The commotion caused by her efforts drew the attention of several bots, among them being Optimus. He made his way over just as Virus managed to pull loose her panel of the sphere. With a curse of surprise, she fell to her back, her prize locked tight in her arms. It proved to be much larger than first supposed. As more attention was garnered, the tension of the Cybertronians increased. Distress became apparent on some faceplates. Their optics were affixed to the object in Virus's arms.

Aware of the diversion of attention, Virus was again made morbidly curious byt it. She struggled to her feet with her prize. It took a moment of juggling before she could get the darn thing turned around. It was an awkward, blunt-shaped thing. Vaguely familiar. Looking down, her gaze was met by a pair if dark, unseeing optics. Mouthplates left gaping in a grimace. Cold disbelief washed through her as she recognized the faceplate of the head she just pulled off.

"...T-Trojan?"

Even if Trojan Horse had been alive, he wouldn't have been able to answer. But now the silence was definitive. There was no filling in the blanks. It was silent because he was dead.

"Trojan Horse? You can't be..." She held his head up, shaking it as if that would wake him. Still, the mech's optics did not light. A terrible, agonized noise came from the beetle-green bot as reality began to set in. A most terrible, horrible, unthinkable reality. With the head tucked to her chassis, she turned to the sphere and screamed for Worm. Dead silence was her only answer. Worm was gone, too. They were both gone.

"_No,"_ she moaned, dropping Trojan's head. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out from under her. "No. No. _Please_, no. You can't be gone." Turning away, she pulled herself up against the metal cocoon, gripping it tight. "You can't be dead. You're not allowed to be dead. Come back- _Please."_

Whereas in life, Trojan and Worm rarely disobeyed an order, in death they were beyond Virus's command. No matter how much she screamed for them, ordered their return, or shook their melted frames, their sparks were beyond her reach. The metal she grasped may have been warm from its fall, but there was no life flowing through it. There was no spark energy anywhere to be found in them.

Her strength, already depleted as it was, drained away as the weight of reality sank in. A low, tortured moan was dragged from her, as deep and mournful as the wail of an ocean storm. The ground came up to meet her as she sank to her knees, hands still gripping the metal of her dead cohorts. She couldn't let them go. How long had they been with her? How infallibly had they stayed by her side through every madness she'd ever partaken in? Like faithful shadows. Unflinching. Never wavering. Forever looking out for her. She hadn't realized how big a hole they filled in her until the now-empty hole felt like it was threatening to swallow her whole. Frag every single voyeuristic Autobot and Decepticon watching. She didn't give a damn about them. All she wanted was Trojan and Worm back.

Virus bowed her head for them, forehead caressing the distorted metal with sad affection. She could barely hear herself as she murmured, "You're all I had left."

Optimus knelt behind the small beetle-green bot. For every horrible thing Virus had ever done in her life, it appeared that she was not devoid of a spark after all. It was impossible to witness her mourning and not feel the slightest pain for her personal agony. He reached for her, his fingertips barely brushing down her back, only to have his hand smacked away viciously. Virus was on her feet in a flash, her mourning transformed into something far more volatile in the face of the Prime.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, brandishing a short pair of prongs jutting from her forearm, serving as diminutive versions of her viral injectors. "This is _your_ fault, Prime! It's all your fragging fault!"

Optimus wisely drew his hand out of range. He said nothing, solemnly letting himself be the object of the mercenary's rage.

"You've taken everything from me!" Virus screamed. "First Megatron, then my ship, now Trojan and Worm? Everything I've ever had, you've taken it away! Damn you, Prime! Damn you to the pit!" How she wished she was still in her old frame, to have those powerful jaws lined with armour-shearing fangs. What she wouldn't have given just to take the Prime's head in her maw and shake until he fell apart! There were a thousand things she wanted to scream at the useless, looming waste of metal, but it all caught in her vocal processor. She teetered on the razor's edge of fury and despair. Fury only belied her sudden terror in realizing she was now alone. Despair was quickly beginning to overpower everything else, if the uncontrolled sob to escape her was any indication. She was all alone now.

"I'm sorry," rumbled the Prime, utterly sincere.

No apology was not enough to sooth the the mercenary at the moment. She trembled, faceplate contorting into the most grotesque expressions of torture and hatred. "You're always _sorry_," she spat. "Always sorry, sorry, sorry _after the fact_! Why don't you ever do anything to stop it _before_ it happens!"

"No one can see the future-."

"You don't need to see the future to know what's happening around you!" Virus shrieked. She was either being completely irrational, or more rational than she'd ever been in her entire life. "Maybe if you hadn't been so blind- if you'd done something about Megatron, he'd still be alive! The war never would have happened! Cybertron would still exist-!" Her red gaze fell, her voice quieting,_ "-I'd still have Trojan and Worm." _

That struck the Prime where it hurt. His optics dimmed, faceplate falling. "You're right, I should have seen what was happening to my own brother, but I didn't. It's cost everyone dearly; I'll be paying for it for the rest of my life. There is no amount of apologies I could give to any transformer to make up for everything we've lost in war, but I am still sorry for your loss."

"I don't care what you're sorry for. I've never cared." Virus turned away, pressing her faceplate to the sphere. "I just want to know why they did it. They could have easily come through in protoform."

Optimus shook his head gently. "They must have had a good reason." He eyed the distorted black sphere. "You said there was someone inside..."

Right on cue, a small noise came from within the dark cocoon. Elita's singed hand appeared in the hole made by Trojan's missing head, waving weakly. "It's me. They did it to save me," she said softly.

Virus shot away from the cocoon at the appearance of the hand. She bristled and hissed furiously.

"Elita?" Optimus darted forward, crouching to peer into the small hole made by Trojan's missing head. A pair of white-blue optics stared back at him.

"Yes, I'm in here, Optimus," Elita replied softly, drawing her hand in to run it along the uneven interior of her protective cocoon. "These mechs saved me." She hadn't asked them to sacrifice themselves. They had done it of their own free will. It had happened so fast- one moment she had been falling into the atmosphere, and the next, she had been enveloped by black metal. She knew in that moment what it was going to cost the nameless mechs as they shielded her. She heard the high price of their deaths in the cries and screams of the friend they left behind.

"You're alive," Prime sighed, pure relief washing through him. Of course she was alive. He felt that she had been alive. But to be faced with the evidence was far more comforting than pure faith alone.

"Alive, but a little trapped," replied the femme.

"We'll get you out, don't worry." It spooked him to discover that she had been right beside him for so long and it was only now that he clued in to her proximity. Contact with the metal sphere made of Trojan and Worm's sacrificed frames brought on the telltale lace of blue electricity. There was no denying it now, Elita One was in there.

The hole made by Trojan's missing head was large enough for Elita to peer out of. It was low to the ground, roughly Virus's seven-foot height, requiring her to crouch in order to see outside. The only figures close enough for Elita to see were Virus and Optimus. The femme may not have been able to recognize Virus for the mercenary she was, but she knew the beetle-green bot was the one her saviours had left behind.

Virus stared in horror of the femme who remained cocooned in the shelter of her cohorts' frames. "They died for _you?_"

Elita bowed her head accordingly. "It doesn't seem worth it, does it?"

"No, it's not,_"_ Virus replied tightly. She was too disgusted, too stunned, to absolutely comprehend implications. Optimus's expression darkened upon hearing the exchange, though Virus ignored him as she was ignoring everyone else. Her full focus was on Elita One. "_You_, of all bots. Prime's sparkmate. It's not fair."

"I know it's not fair, but I owe them everything," Elita murmured.

"_Owe? _You think you owe a debt for this? You think you can put a price on what I've lost?_"_ The mercenary's optics flickered, her expression suddenly morphing into something far more strained. It was the depth behind her cohorts' sacrifice that was now hitting her. "You owe _nothing_, Elita One." Her tortured gaze flew to Optimus. "I owed a debt to you for Megatron's frame. You over-payed with it." She paused, sucking dry, dusty air into her vents, her fists clenching tightly at her sides. "I owe you _nothing_ now; thanks to Trojan and Worm, I am absolved of any and all debts I've held to you. Never contact me again. Never ask for anything more. Trojan and Worm were the best sparks I have ever known, and now they're gone, so just leave me in peace."

There was nothing that could done with the damaged remains of Trojan and Worms' frames, aside from salvaging spare metal and parts. It was highly unlikely their sparks were spontaneously going to come back. Virus leaned into their cooling corpses for one last goodbye. She pressed her forehead to them, imaging the last flickering of their sparks playing on her resonance scanners. When she was ready, she peeled away.

"It's just scrap metal now," she announced lowly. "You can cut her out."

Turning away, Virus discovered that Frenzy and Rumble had managed to creep up behind her. They were her height, though thicker in body mass. Perfect for someone like her to lean on. Without a word, they offered their support. Despite previous ambivalence toward the symbiotes, she consented to being led away. While not embraced by the Decepticon-Neutrals when she was brought into their small circle, Virus did receive solemn condolences. They, too, were mourning the loss of two of their crew. Notably, the Twins migrated around the gathering of transformers in order to stand nearest the Decepticon group. Nothing was said, they didn't even sit to offer a few words. Their support was shown in their offer to stand near, continuing to watch the skies for danger.

When an appropriate stretch of time passed, Ratchet approached Prime carefully, followed by Wheeljack. From their forearms formed the diamond-sharp saws that would cut through the cage of metal encasing Elita. They offered silently, faceplates solemn.

Optimus glanced to Virus, mostly hidden amongst her much taller comrades. She did nothing, sitting with her back to him. His gaze then travelled to the large black cocoon sitting next to him. He gave a definitive nod, stepping aside. The medic and engine stepped up, kneeling by the cocoon.

"Elita, you may want to back up," Ratchet warned. His saw began to spin, its haunting whine filling the air. It was joined by Wheeljack's. Elita wisely slid to the other side of the cocoon, pressing as far away as she could. The strangled screech of metal meeting spinning blades caused everyone's armour to prickle. Many looked away out of respect for the once-living frames being cut apart.

Seeing as the outer layers of melt armour had turned brittle upon reentry, it was relatively easy to cut through the top layer. Digging deeper brought tides of energon from cut energon lines, disheartened sparks from wires still carrying their charge. Ratchet and Wheeljack's combined effort took only a few breems to create a hole big enough for Elita One to slide out of.

"Watch your step," Ratchet warned as Elita came abreast of the newly-made exit. The Autobots, having regained a minor second wind of energy, craned around each other to get a look at the femme.

She tumbled out without any grace, grasping Ratchet's proffered hand with her remaining arm as she unfolded into freedom, struck in sudden awe by the open plains of the desert. There were no walls. No prison cells. Barren as the land was, it was the most beautiful scenery Elita One had seen in eons.

Meaning to murmur something to that effect to her sparkmate kneeling above her, her attention was instead caught by the inferno still raging in the sky. She knew the Fallen's moods too well to know the confrontation was far from over. At the very least, Shockwave would be unlikely to ever let her go. Her worth as an experiment was too valuable to his sick version of '_science_'.

As if jinxed by her own thoughts, Psi's flaming exterior changed slightly. It was a detail hard to detect at such a distance, but for one so accustomed to staring into flame-light for so long, Elita saw it. There was no wind in space, but his flames flowed as if caught in a sudden howl of wind. A gale force of frigid arctic air rushed down across the desert plains. Loose sand kicked up into a minor storm. Optics were shielded against the dusty assault until it passed. In the few moments it had taken the winds to pass, the desert plains had been filled with nightmares.

There were drones. Legions of drones. An impossible number of them, especially when so many had been ripped apart upon the Fallen. Yet there they all were, standing straight, staring blindly ahead; drones by the hundreds. Interspersed among the battalions of assembly-line drones were monsters. Things that had no names. Creatures that were no bigger than a microbot, but darted and flashed as fast and as bright as lightning. Other creatures that cast no shadows, drawing in the light instead; they were dark smudges of varying sizes. Cybertronian in shape, standing freely in amongst the drones and living lightning, but appeared as dead as any corpse.

There was a figure who stood out amongst them. Not the tallest, though his 50-foot height was considerable. Not the most frightening either, for his creations were nightmares incarnate. However, he was the most recognizable of the monsters. His single yellow optic was telling enough of his identity.

Shockwave regarded the collection of Autobots and Decepticons with cold calculation. Not quite three dozen of them. A few dead. Those who lived did so barely. Exhaustion and injury were evident. They were clearly outmatched on every front. They would be fools to deny his one request. By all means, the sacrifice of one bot for all of their lives was no true contest of wit. He extended his right hand, palm up, expecting Elita One to be handed over. To make his demand perfectly clear, he announced,

"You have something that belongs to me. Return it."


	53. All Hell Breaks Loose: Part II

Part two (three?) of the long, hard climax of _As We Come Together_? Of course! It's my pleasure! ...or is that _your_ pleasure? Hmmmm, do I pleasure you [with my writing]? I sure hope so! =P Is this the longest chapter I have ever written? Indeed, it is. 30 pages nearly killed me. x_x Am I excited? Like you wouldn't believe! 8D Do I look forward to readers' input over this chapter? Like I look forward to my next breath. ^_^

My dearest and sincerest thanks to my precious friends and reviewers:

**Flameshield**- I'm glad that you were able to enjoy the chapter at such a late hour, my friend. =) We can only hope that in the coming battle, the good guys have what it takes to overcome the many obstacles the devil and hell itself are throwing in their way...

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~

**Phoenix13**- Elita is back, but will the 'Bots be able to keep her when they're up against hell itself? O,o They'll all need a miracle to get through this alive. .

**Dramastar-Mel**- Believe when I say, not a living being with a spark or soul wants Elita to go back. They'll fight until the last before they let anything happen to that poor femme!

**Ladyleyn**- Oh yes, they are all deliciously pissed, which means that a most epic battle is about to begin. =P For all the sacrifices that have been made for Elita One, we can only hope that everyone gets through this all right...

**Queen of the Red Skittle**- lol~ Cliffhangers truly are my favourite things to write. There's something about the suspense, driving readers bonkers during the interim, that makes it worth it. =P And goodness, I didn't think my replies to your reviews meant as much as your reviews mean to me. A full circle moment, yes? =) Hopefully this chapter lives up to your expectations~

**Lady Tecuma**- We can only hope that the end that befalls Shockwave is fitting of his crimes. If not, then rest assured that be burns in the hottest corners of hell. ^_^

**King of Pain**- Miles's eye is not coming back, that's for sure. Poor guy... As to if he's going to get a shiny new replacement... there's no telling. Only time will tell. =( As for trust issues popping up- this whole story is about trust issues. They're everywhere. I think this little incident is either going to make or break the TFs.

**Balrog Rioke**- Heh, I think going for the eye for a lot of people hits the 'ewwww' factor. ^_^; One thing to know about the Fallen (and Shockwave, to a degree) is that 'sore loser' doesn't even cover half of it. .

**FunkyFish1991-** Hahaha, yet again you point out a detail to the chapter that I had failed to realize while writing: I was indeed lulling you all into a false sense of security! What better way to shock the pants off you all then to make sure you're resting with your pants metaphorically down! 8D Thank god I got across the desolation and exhaustion of the TFs- I really did take your suggestion to heart. Wanted to get things just right! ^_^ And thank you for the very kind recognition that I am the master of cliffhangers, because let's be honest- I am! 8D

**Chloo**- Haha, when you mentioned Miles losing his virginity in an fortunate way, I suddenly had a vision of him and Tungsten in vacuum alt mode... XD I can't say what will become of the Cybertronians since all will be revealed very shortly, but I can say this- they're in for the fight of their lives. I don't make anything easy for anyone in this series. . As for the depth of Virus's pain... I drew a lot of what she felt from my own personal experiences, so if her actions felt close to home, that's why: they come straight from a source. ^_^;

**Lecidre**- Oh, be afraid, my friend. Be very, very afraid. When all the forces of darkness are conspiring against the good guys, it is a very good time to be scared out of your wits. O,o Miles's eye-gore scene was disturbingly fun to write. If it freaked you out, then it did its job. =P Thank you so much for your kind words, my friend. It really does mean the world to me when I get to read a review from you~ I hope with all my heart that you enjoy this chapter!

**As We Come Together  
In Which All Hell Breaks Loose: Part II**

"_You have something that belongs to me. Return it." _

To say the Cybertronians were shocked by the demand was an understatement. It was an understatement to the degree that it was offencive. It was such an understatement that it should have been a _crime_.

Taking the small gathering's lack of response as evidence that they had failed to hear him in the first place, Shockwave measured three strides forward. His raised the volume of his vocal processor to make up for the distance that remained between him and the others. There was no need to close the distance any farther, nor raise his voice any higher than a to a certain decibel. The superior hearing of a Cybertronian would be perfectly capable of clearly picking up his message now.

"I repeat: you have something that belongs to me. Return it."

Again, there was a most displeasing lack of response.

This time, there was no doubt that he had been heard. Now it was only a matter of identifying the reason why his demand was failing to be acted upon. It was clear. Concise. Its parameters straightforward- _return his property_. He had made it blatantly obvious through gesture and backup that he meant for his property to be returned immediately. By force, if necessary.

Shockwave watched the crowd of two dozen or so Cybertronians with a cold stare, measuring them collectively and then individually. He had files on each of them, all varying in length and depth. The most active participants in the war garnered the longest and most in-depth descriptions. Characters such as Optimus Prime and Soundwave were detailed because of their status and importance to the war. Others, such as the spark-split twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, were listed for their considerable battle prowess. The lesser beings, those whose files listed them as expendable ground fodder, were of little concern. Their collective intelligence, however, was questionable. Granted, they had Perceptor with them, a renowned mind among their species,, but what could be said of the commonness of a lapse in judgement on the battlefield?

Attributing their continued stupidity to shell-shock, Shockwave once again condescended to repeat his demand in far more direct tones:

"The femme designated 'Elita One' is my property. Return her to me at once and you all will remain unharmed. I have no quarrel with you; to engage in battle would be a waste of energy and resources. You will die. Give her to me, and you will be spared."

Finally, there was a reaction. However, the reaction was not the one Shockwave had anticipated.

His experimental applicant, the one they called Elita One, outstretched a hand to lay it against Optimus Prime's figure. Her expression was an unfamiliar one. In most cases, when under observation in the laboratory, the subject retreated into the recesses of her mind, blanking her features. There was rarely ever a documented emotional display. Here, she openly displayed the emotions anxiety, fear, discomfort, horror, and rage. During experimentation sessions, she rarely vocalized, other than to express distress over the procedures. Now she audibly begged the Prime,

"Please, don't let him take me."

Optimus lifted a large hand, framing his mate's faceplate. He showed no hesitation in touching what she had become. His faceplate showed no repulsion. He truly adored every molecule of her being. "He'll never take you," he murmured. He moved to his feet, drawing his blades as he did so, placing himself between his sparkmate and the monster meaning to take her away.

"Elita One is no one's property."

"I beg to differ," Shockwave intoned.

Optimus's expression hardened, dark fury simmering in his optics, faceplate etched into hard lines of battle-honed severity. "You will be begging for far more when I'm through with you."

"This is illogical, Optimus Prime. You are damaged; you will not survive a confrontation with me. I will outmanoeuvre you, overpower you, and if you survive my attack, I will harvest you as material for my experiments. The survival rate for that, so far, is null."

Elita One shuddered involuntarily, arm wrapping around her chassis tightly.

"Relinquish the femme called Elita One and I will spare you the agony," Shockwave concluded.

"No."

Shockwave's optic flashed, spinning and whirring as it adjusted itself. "You would be so foolish?"

"Call me a fool, but I will not let another living being suffer at your hands."

"I see." Making note that the Prime was liable to continue to resist all efforts of persuasion due to emotional investment in the femme, Shockwave appealed to the Cybertronians in the vicinity. It was unlikely that all of them were willing to sacrifice their lives for the life of a single insignificant creature. If any of them had half a byte of logic in their processors, they would see their best chances of survival laid with doing as he demanded. He announced as much to the Cybertronians, outlining the terms as plainly as possible for them to understand. The effect on them, however, was opposite to what he calculated.

Those who sat huddled on the ground now rose to their feet. Standing mechs stood straighter. Faceplates shifted, indignant rage radiating from them. As it appeared, they, too, were too loyal to one of their own to give her up. They could not sacrifice one to save the many. They were faulty beings whose emotions and loyalties corrupted their decision-making abilities. Even the ones called "Prowl" and "Soundwave", renowned warriors for their emotional detachment, stood in defence of Elita One, prepared to fight again even when they were so wholly depleted.

"None will give her up?" Shockwave said, though it was more of a statement.

"Not a chance in the pit," someone replied. Chromia, by the sounds of it. She sounded downright feral.

Optimus cast a briefly awed look back, amazed to find the determination and dedication shining in everyone's optics. Bots whom he had fought side-by-side with for eons, and they were still willing to give their lives for whatever cause he stood for. For all the mistakes he had made since launching the Allspark, for all the failings he had as a Prime, his bots were still willing to stand for him, with him, and fight to the bitter end. Even when it meant death. To know that, to see the truth of it standing should-to-shoulder with him, humbled him. Gave him strength. Fuelled his will to fight.

Even the Decepticons were standing, stone-faced and battle ready. Elita One had helped get one of their own out of the demon ship. They owed her. They'd fight for her.

Virus, strangely enough, marched her way from the back of the gathering to stand determinedly next to Prime's foot. She was a diminutive green smudge next to his ankle, chest thrust out, hands on hips.

"You too, Virus?" Optimus intoned lowly, arching an optic ridge.

The mercenary bristled, her optics flashing furiously. "Not for you, Prime," she spat. "I do this for Trojan and Worm. They saw something to be saved in Elita One and I won't have them throw their lives away for nothing. I'll fight, but for them only."

"Nonetheless, I appreciate the gesture." Optimus turned his stony gaze ahead, to the legion of monsters standing across the barren no man's land between them. In a voice that rang across the plains, he announced, "You see, Shockwave? None are willing to give up Elita One."

"That is your decision. However, the consequences shall be fatal," Shockwave intoned evenly. Such cold, merciless calculation in his voice. He took a step back, and then another, raising his arm as he did so. It was a signal to the army at his back, who straightened further, their focus becoming as acute as the burn of light through a magnifying glass. With nothing more than the lowering of Shockwave's arm, he signalled the attack to begin.

Slow at first, the drones were the first to begin the march. One step, a second, then their pace picked up. The dark and light entities scattered in the ranks dragged themselves forward with the wave. What first was a steady lurch became a jog, and then quickly sped into a canter, which evolved into a gallop. Weapons came to bear, battlemasks lowering. The force of their collective stampede was like that of a thunderous earthquake. Loose grit and sand trembled. Rocks jumped.

There was nowhere for the Cybertronians to run or hide. They hunkered down, tense, weapons drawn, waiting for the fight to come to them.

"This is it," Optimus bellowed over the roar of the coming wave. "We make our stand here!"

The coming tide loomed endlessly dark. Death coming full-force to greet them in the most violent terms possible. Just as the distance closed, Optimus and the others at the head of the pack wrenching forward in order to greet the enemy with utmost brutality of their own, fate intervened.

Without warning, the ground beneath their feet exploded. Like rag-dolls, the Cybertronians were thrown from their feet, careening through the air until the hard ground caught them once more, jarring armour from hinges, dislocating limbs from sockets. Their confusion increased as the fury of battle erupted _without_ them. In a wild tangle, they were scrambling to their feet, desperately trying to make sense of the pandemonium unravelling around them.

"Look!" Bumblebee suddenly screamed, his optics cast skyward, pointing to whomever their saviours happened to be.

A crackling, ill-suited transmission came in from above. Blaster latched on and amplified, throwing it out for everyone to hear: Robert Epps's very human voice rang clear-

"_We're bringing the rain." _

From all directions overhead, Earth jets were converging on them. There was no preamble before they opened fire; it was indiscriminate shooting into the wild churning mass of monsters. So many aliens, so many aircrafts. The sky was blackened by the sheer number of them. They came in all makes and models, from F-22 Raptors screaming at the head of the packs to the A-10 Warthogs growling at the back like pitbulls ready to be set loose. Gunships loomed on the horizon- monstrous growling titans amongst the screaming banshee wails of the jets circling them. In perfect choreography, the smaller, faster jets busy investing their violent opinion into Shockwave's drones, turned their nosecones skyward and soared up to make room for the heavy, armour-packed gunships. The deafening roar of their powerful engines vibrated the air as they passed overhead, shattered spectacularly by the deafening explosions summoned by the release of their payloads. Several hundred thousand megatons of power released at the same time in the form of every manner of bomb known to man. Everything short of a nuclear detonation.

Not even allowing for the dust to clear, it was open season for all human pilots as they dove back into the fray with their own considerable firepower. Adding to the anarchy was the rhythmic pounding of machine gun fire, joined by the cacophony of roaring Gatling guns, booming of the combined efforts of howitzers and mortars, and the piercing scream of missiles shooting into the furious mass of destruction. The ground itself was beginning to buckle under the fury of the non-stop assault. Slowly but surely, it sunk inward, imploding into a steadily increasing crater. Chunks of tank-sized earth soared meters into the air, turning belly-up before crashing back down on some unsuspecting drone. The air became so thick with smoke, dirt, and flying shrapnel, that it turned black. Not a scarce drag of fresh air could be found.

Retaliation on the drones' part was a failing effort, though not for lack of trying. Return fire lit up the sky like fireworks, occasionally striking an alien craft and sending it to its death amid the smoke and flames. Ejecting pilots were slashed, burned, and mauled midair by flying shrapnel. However, for all the damage the drones dealt, they were still woefully ineffective. They had been programmed to attack spark signatures and faction modulators. Humans were utterly lacking of both. It was to the advantage of the humans that they were made of entirely organic materials. Their biorhythms were camouflaged amongst the overwhelming presence of organic life around them, rendering the Earthlings virtually indistinguishable from the rest of their planet. Their machines were no better. Lacking many of the components that would normally constitute a Cybertronian aircraft, Earth's machines showed up as nothing more than flying shrapnel. It was only when a missile was right on top of a drone did it realize its demise was at hand.

The greatest failing, perhaps, was Shockwave's ultimate failure to calculate the tenacity of the dominant alien species of Earth. It was his terribly miscalculated folly to assume that such a primitive organic species would back down in the face of the adversity he and his drones could provide. Earthlings proved to be a determined breed of alien. Like the drones, they had the advantage of near-endless numbers, capable of overwhelming an enemy with their swarming. They were unusually fierce in comparison to their size. Territorial to a fault. And, as the scientist was discovering, despite their primitive status, Earthlings had an extraordinary propensity for destruction.

From the base, a small armada of vehicles came careening around the massacre, making a beeline for the only robots in the plains whom the jets had failed to target. For a moment, the Cybertronians feared the worse, tensing once more for an anticipated attack. It was an attack that never came. As the first wave of humans came, they split into two directions- one that circled around front while the other came around back. Rather than encircle to destroy, they faced the direction of Shockwave and the drones, forming a shield they intended to enforce by any means necessary. More humans came behind the first wave, further bulking the defence.

For once, their size and inherent squishiness were not the most obvious features about the organic creatures. It was the determination blazing in their eyes. Their willingness to put themselves between Shockwave's legion and the injured Cybertronians.

Dumbfounded by the gesture, the collection of towering Cybertronians stood and stared. They recognized some of the little faces, saw allies they had come to know, friends they had happened to make. None smiled nor offered waves; the situation certainly was not one for friendly banter. Some humans were shouting into walkie talkies, continuing to coordinate with the air strike. The majority of humans were scouring the dust-veiled battlefield for any signs of the enemy left standing. They wielded all manner of weapons- from sabot launching guns to the magnesium concentrated lasers the Faireborns had developed and Ironhide had improved upon.

Only a few hundred yards away, the blitz assault on Shockwave's forces was finally trailing to its end. A lone jet was the last to circle overhead, firing a few last warning shots into the smoking crater. A weak retaliation was mounted by whatever hole riddled drone was left standing. The jet's wing was clipped. Suddenly several more jets ploughed in, firing enough sabot rounds into the smoke to melt even the toughest Cybertronian hide. The drone that had fired was probably reduced to an oozing pile of slag.

The single hit jet was going down, aiming over the human-protected-Cybertronians. There was nothing that could be done to save the handsome F-22 from crashing. A pilot ejected from the cockpit, pulling for release of his parachute. Though he couldn't be heard by anyone, his gestures of victory (and perhaps a few choice curse words over his crashed jet) were obvious. As he passed close, Soundwave caught the human by his parachute and guided him to the ground. Once the human gained ground, he threw his helmet and oxygen mask away, revealing himself to be none other than Robert Epps.

"You see that? You see that? _Hell yeah_! Kicked evil alien robot ass!" he exclaimed. He shot a grin up to the Cybertronians, his white teeth a bright slash against his dark face. "No offence to the other giant alien robots."

"None taken," Wheeljack piped in merrily, if not a little dazedly.

A pair of humans suddenly dislodged from the encircling faction of guards, one tipping his helmet back to reveal himself as William Lennox. The other turned out to be Reginald Simmons.

Will's face, smudged as it was with dirt, was flushed with exhilaration. He hefted his magnesium laser against his shoulder, craning his neck to look Optimus in the optic. "I take it by your expressions, you weren't expecting us."

"To be perfectly honest, no," Optimus replied. "After everything our appearance to the general public has done, human assistance was one of the last things we expected.

Will smirked, a tad wry. "Didn't I tell you? At the first sign of trouble, we'd be here. I don't like to break promises."

"You have my peoples' gratitude, as well as mine," Optimus replied sincerely, kneeling so as to extend his hand. Will offered his own, touching the warm metal of the Prime's fingers. A moment pass, then both parties separated. Will stepped back a pace to rejoin his own people, allowing Optimus to stand and rejoin his.

"Lucky us that Simmons managed to harass the right people into pulling their heads out of their asses and give us command of some major firepower. Otherwise, I don't think we'd be standing here having this conversation," Will said, not quite smiling anymore as he craned his neck around Optimus, noting the other bots. His expression became further strained, pained to see his alien comrades so obviously hurt.

Optimus grimaced, casting a tired optic to the rest of his bots. They cast their heads down, knowing full well what condition they were in and how close they had come to being demolished. "Unfortunately, I think you're right."

Blaster waltzed up, wrapping his arm around Epps's shoulders. "You guys sure pack some power for such little guys," teased the microbot.

"You're one to talk," Epps replied wryly, eyeing the dangerous dart launcher jutting from the red bot's arm only inches from his face.

"Is that one alright?" Simmons suddenly asked, nodding toward Elita One. She looked the worst of them all, but not battle wounded. Her frame screamed long-term abuse. Her faceplate was too haunted.

"She is far from alright," Optimus intoned gravely. "Safe now, but in need of repairs."

"Yeah, I can see that," Simmons replied, a glimmer of sympathy flickering in his dark eyes.

Elita tilted her head, sizing up the tiny aliens who had come to their aid. They were obviously talking about her, their shining little eyes watching her. She didn't understand what was being said. To show her thanks for their kindness, she bobbed a polite bow to the tan-skinned alien who first acknowledged her.

Simmons, much to the surprise of many who knew him, returned the bow with a deep one of his own. He straightened pointedly, jerking the heavy canvas of his combat uniform straight, ignoring the stunned looks being directed his way. Yes, he was an ass, but that didn't mean he didn't know proper Sector Seven protocol when greeting a non-hostile alien species. This wasn't his first rodeo. The poor alien looked like she hadn't been respected in a long time, so showing a little was the least he could do.

"**Tell him thank you for their help," **Elita said, gently nudging the back of Optimus's leg.

Optimus made a noise like clearing his throat, watching Simmons shrewdly. "She conveys her thanks for your assistance."

"Tell her no problem," Will automatically replied. He bobbed his head in an awkward bow. Despite her damages, the bot had the same regal air Optimus carried.

Simmons shrugged off Elita's gratitude with a hard smirk; internally flattered, he wasn't about to go broadcasting it to everyone. "Just wait until you get my bill. Ammunition and jets _do not_ come cheap," he said. "It was almost more trouble than it was worth convincing the powers that be that you guys were worth the trouble after all the trouble you already caused."

"Yet you still came through?" Optimus pointed out, optic ridge arched.

"Yeah, well, I just don't like it when people fuck with my... friends," the agent admitted reluctantly, looking anywhere but at the Cybertronians.

There was a lighthearted moment when the air was open for so many jokes to be inserted, there wasn't enough time for everything to be said. Optimus was clearly surprised by the admission. Some Sector Seven agents present doffed their helmets, looking sincere and touched with their superior's words. Will and Epps looked eager to start needling the agent, who, over the past couple of months, was becoming an interesting frienemy of theirs. Bumblebee snorted stubbornly, not exactly in favour of being Simmons's friend.

The moment passed as Soundwave rumbled darkly over everyone's heads. Easily towering over the crowd's heads, he had a clear view of the clearing crater, and what he saw did not relieve his spark of any worry. His symbiotes were instantly alert, followed by Flamewar rising to her feet with Sunstreaker's help. Barricade stumbled, leaning into Sideswipe's side.

"Something's moving," Laserbeak hissed, circling around over her master's head.

The momentary reprieve hanging over the warriors scattered with a cold douse of reality. A harsh wind came up, whipping across the plains. Lingering plumes of dark smoke and dust bustled out of the way. Dark shapes slowly came into sight, working their way up the sides of the gigantic crater created courtesy of the humans. Not the drones, who laid in scattered heaps of shrapnel. The other things that had stood amongst them. The creatures that bore the appearance of Cybertronians, but looked to be cast from solidified shadow. Some were blasted in half, their upper halves dragging themselves across the uneven ground. Lucky ones were collecting their limbs, wrenching them into place. A few were cannibalizing fallen frames nearby, taking away what they needed and adding it to themselves.

Epps sucked in a hard drag of air, firming his lips into a thin line. It felt as if the bottom of his stomach had just dropped out. "I never thought I would ever have to ask this question, but are those giant alien robot... _zombies_ crawling out of that big ass hole right there?"

Blaster was already unwinding his arm from around the human's shoulders, faceplate reflecting a mixture of horror and disbelief. "Yeah," the microbot murmured weakly. "Those are zombies."

"Fuck," Epps spat.

_

* * *

_

Directly across the crater, completely unscathed, was Shockwave. There was no singular reason for his survival of the humans' attack. He had had several elements of protection, from personal force fields, to the command of drones sacrificing themselves, but the most powerful protective measure was, by far, Psi's current favour in taunting him. Unseen, unheard, Shockwave was 78.098 percent positive the Fallen's spectre was present, summoned and enchanted by the eruption of chaos, and had been responsible for several counts of jets firing on each other, bombs detonating in their cargo holds.

In the aftermath of the attack, Shockwave was granted the reprieve to rethink his strategy. He watched his adversaries unwaveringly. He watched them through the smoke, while they had believed him destroyed. Watched them now as horror dawned. He recalculated their strength. Rethought battle plans. Most importantly, making exception for the humans' surprising capabilities. He would not get ahead of himself this time. The mistake would only be made once, the price of it costing him precious resources he had little desire of wasting. It was by his own fortune that the mutations undergone by his experiments enabled them to survive beyond the thresholds of an average Cybertronian. After so long housing such failures, they were finally showing their worth.

Elita whined as she watched the slow approach of the enemy, brought to the brink of all she could bare. First being snapped out of her stupor by Nightbeat, only to be met by his death. The taste of hope brought by the voices. Those sweet, sweet voices who sang to her, comforted her. The bitter tang of the Fallen as he had mocked her, used her newest gift against her. Flamewar's arrival, their shared freedom, her first taste of the outside world in eons... Now _this_. How much more was she supposed to take? Was there some force in the universe looking to torture her into deeper insanity?

...of course there was. He was currently looming above the planet.

Her whine drew Optimus's attention. His faceplate hardened further, his optics bleak but determined. With a curt gesture, he summoned Bumblebee forward.

"Sir?" Bumblebee intoned, optics darting between Prime and the... zombies.

In one swift move, Optimus had Elita in his arms, quickly settling her into Bumblebee's embrace. "Take her," ordered the Prime. His voice was hard. As hard as his expression had become. "Get her away from this place. Protect her."

Elita's hand remained outstretched for her mate, lingering on his arm. "Optimus?"

"It'll be alright, dearspark. I have every faith in Bumblebee." His tone was grave. There was no time to do all the things he wanted for her; kneel for her, bring her gentle hand to his forehead, brush her delicate fingers against his mouthplates. He wanted to comfort her. Give her words to sooth her aching spark. Now was not the time. It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do, tearing his solemn gaze away from his sparkmate to meet Bumblebee's awed gaze.

"Swear you'll protect her," he said. "Swear it."

Awe disappeared from the scout's faceplate, replaced with grim determination. His optics, usually so bright with youthful vigour, crystallized into something so much harder. Diamond shards reflecting eons of war fought, a youth never truly lived, a hardened warrior before he needed to be. Optimus's spark ached for him, but now was not the time for regrets.

"I swear," Bumblebee vowed. "I'll get her to base. Guard her with my life." He adjusted Elita in his arms, allowing her to rest comfortably against his front, mindful that she was injured and probably in a lot of pain.

The femme, while not able to feel pain, was grateful for the scout's care. He was a handsome bot, though not familiar. His designation- _Bumblebee_- echoed hollowly in her head. When she tried to think of memories of him, her mind was starkly void. Curiously blank. Not the feeling of possible memories laying in wait, but a space devoid of presence where the name 'Bumblebee" should have been. Utterly empty. Haunting.

Unaware of Elita's internal curiosities, Bumblebee cut a hard stare to his right. "Arcee, Bluestreak- you're with me. I want you covering my back."

With a jerk, the listed Autobots stood straight, swiftly coming to either side of the yellow minibot. Bumblebee cast them each a measuring look; they were determined, each excellent snipers capable of keeping the enemy at bay. Damaged as they were, only their strength of will kept them standing. Knowing each of them as well as he did, their willpower would be enough. Bluestreak was silent now, battlemask pulled over his faceplate so none could see his expression. His rifle was clutched a tad too tightly in his hands. Arcee, shaking in either fear or fury, looked particularly fearsome in the Decepticon frame she inhabited. Her own rifle lay propped against her shoulder, her faceplate drawn into sharp lines. Approving of his team, Bumblebee snapped his battlemask down, gripped Elita marginally closer to his chest, and quickly took off for the Autobot base. Bluestreak and Arcee were quick to follow on his heels.

It was the sudden motion of the four-bot group that rocketed all else into motion. A screech rose up, lightning crackling the air. No, not _lightning. _Creatures that appeared made of lightning. They rose into the air, crackling brightly, zigzagging like lightning.

"Go, Bumblebee! We got this!" Arcee ordered, being the first to fire. Plasma flashed bright, heading straight for a single zagging creature the colour of purple lightning. It was a direct hit. A brighter flash erupted, accompanied by an unholy screech- _KREMZEEK!_ Arcee cursed vividly as she realized her mistake; the light faded, revealing the lightning being to still be there, bigger than before.

"Dammit, they don't go down easy!" she snarled.

"Then they'll go down the hard way," Bluestreak replied. He scoped the enemy, then fired. Arcee wasted no time in joining him. They accomplished the same results as the first. The kremzeeks- there was no better name for them- absorbed the energy, becoming larger and brighter with each plasma burst they consumed.

"Stop firing and run!" Ratchet roared, his attention divided between the kremzeeks swarming and the strange zombie-bots loping toward them. His distraction cost him. A kremzeek flashed out of nowhere, diving into his frame. A screech like claws down a chalkboard split the air. A wave of excess energy suddenly flooded the medic's frame. Every light on him flashed bright for an astrosecond, before exploding in fits of sparks and flame. He reeled, going for the ground hard.

Bumblebee nearly turned around to run back, his spark clenching at the sound of Ratchet's strangled yell. Others were converging on the mech though, so there was little more the scout could do. He clutched Elita tighter. She was so small in his arms. Only two feet shorter then him, but so much thinner, so much more fragile. He spun on his heel, running faster for base. The sounds of Arcee and Bluestreak's futile attempts at holding the kremzeeks at bay resounded in his audios. Soon they fell back, keeping close to Bumblebee's sides.

Wheeljack swore something wicked as Ratchet wavered, racing to catch his friend. He was too slow, the medic's brightly painted frame hitting the dirt with a wrenching crash. In another flash, the kremzeek was free of the medic, cackling like a wild thing. Its shriek rose to the skies, calling to its fellow freaks. The air came alive with the cackling shrieks of the other kremzeeks, underscored by the zombies' haunting moans. The pack was charging now, targeting the Cybertronians and humans.

There was no time for thought anymore. No more rest. A battle cry went up, matched by others. Powerful bodies surged forward. Whether the fight be a suicidal one or not, there was no backing out now.

Wheeljack was pushed to the ground by the force of his comrades charging by. His optics locked for only a moment on the kremzeek who lingered above Ratchet. It was roughly a bipedal shape, no bigger than a microbot. There were no discernible features, though that did not stop the feeling that it was grinning like a mad demon.

"_Kremzeeeeeek!" _it shrieked, diving for the engineer.

Thinking fast, Wheeljack caught a handful of sand and flung it. The thick cloud encased the little lightning demon. It hit the ground, writhing, clawing at itself. Its brightness dimmed, flickering. Nearby, an energy leech that had been trying desperately to get close, fell to its knees and uttered an agonizing groan.

"What the pit-?" Wheeljack sputtered, pushing to his feet.

Ratchet was suddenly pushing himself up, weaving as if severely over-energized. "Dirt-," he wheezed. "Non-conductive. Throw dirt on it."

"Oh!" Wheeljack's fins flashed bright, comprehension flooding him. He fisted handfuls of dirt, diving on the writhing ball of living lightning. He was careful not to touch it. Like every one of his kind, he was made of metal, a perfect conductor for something made of electricity. He drown the little monster in dirt, smothering it.

A shadow fell across them. A death-rattle sounded in Wheeljack's audio. Coldness seeped into his frame as hands as cold as death gripped him. He was being drained of every drop of energy. His vision wavered for a moment, instant weakness sinking deep into him, weighing down every fibre of his being, making his frame heavy and his spark weak. The ground hurt as his legs collapsed beneath him.

"'Jack!" Ratchet crowed, launching into action. He moved as if drunk, not able to coordinate properly. Every sense he had was on the fritz, so loaded down with excess energy that he could hardly see straight. His audios buzzed with the growing sounds of chaos around him. He stumbled to the side, throwing a small wave of dirt over the kremzeek that had assaulted him. It wailed in torture. The energy leech that drained Wheeljack echoed mournfully.

A brief flash of black and white zipped into sight around Ratchet, suddenly finding Prowl there. He still had little balance without his doorwings, but managed to tackle the energy leech off Wheeljack. Another haunting moan drifted from the poor beast. Prowl grunted upon impact, throwing the monster away before he could be drained.

"Jazz!" the tactician called.

"On it!" Jazz skated in like a silver blur, acutely aware of the kremzeeks and energy leeches around him. He needn't see them to sense them. One gave off so much energy that it prickled down his armour. The other sucked so much energy out of the air, leaving it as cold and dead as outer space. In his hands, Jazz gripped a makeshift weapon fashioned from a long piece of serrated shrapnel. There was no preamble as the saboteur sliced the head from the leech. For good measure, Jazz whipped the severed head as far away as possible. The frame stopped moving immediately, emitting a noise like a sad sigh of relief. One last pitiful screech rose from its kremzeek partner before it sparked out of existence.

"Is it dead?" Ratchet asked warily.

Jazz tapped the headless frame with the tip of his foot. Nothing happened. Not a drop of energy stolen. "Very dead."

Prowl was quick to take in the details of the situation. The calculations flew past the lenses of his optics, bright and fast. He whipped a hand to his audio, connecting with the nearest communication officer. Soundwave was closest, sweeping energy leeches away from his legs with the landing strut he had been using as a crutch. His red optics flashed as information was downloaded at the speed of light. From him, the information was catapulted to everyone instantaneously.

_Electrical creatures: neutralized by non-conductive material. Energy drainers: cut off their heads. They operate in pairs. Destroy one, the other dies. Make as little physical contact as possible. _

A new roar rose up among the Cybertronians as they gained some defence against their attackers. Those who still had the ability to transform did so immediately, kicking up as much dirt as they could. Heads rolled. Literally. But the order for little contact was easier said than done. There were many leeches, each filling their air with their melancholy moans; they weren't fighting, merely clamouring for a touch. Between them darted the kremzeeks, wild and unpredictable. There were far more of the enemy than there were Cybertronians to fight them.

Humans, as it was quickly discovered, were just as vulnerable to the monsters as their Cybertronian comrades. In fact, contact was far more dangerous for them than any mechanical life form. Skin contact with an energy leech, even a slight brush, resulted in widespread bruising. Prolonged contact resulted in blackened, necrotic tissue. Eventually death. Contact with the kremzeeks was equivalent to being struck by lightning.

A bellowing roar cut above the raging toil of clashing powers. Next came a banshee shriek as warheads were launched, detonating against the ground and sending a tidal wave of dirt over the sea of writhing creatures. Ironhide's hulking shape could be made out in the twisting hysteria, loading yet another round of warheads to launch. Chromia buzzed around him, vibrating with the thrill of battle, cutting down energy leeches if they came too close. Another scream of warheads split the air, followed closely by the earth-rocking detonation that neutralized a dozen more kremzeeks with the ensuing tsunami of dirt.

Prowl glared out at the scene, manging a thousand calculations at once. Even with his battle computer working at maximum, he could not compute fast enough. Too many bots were severely damaged, yet surpassing the limits of their own frames to keep fighting. There were too many variables and unknowns introduced by Shockwave's creatures. Too many unknowns when it came to anything that had to deal with Shockwave. Too many unknowns when dealing with a creature like the Fallen.

Even with his emotional centre turned off, a dark feeling swelled in Prowl's sparkcase. In using his frame as the instrument that took away Jazz's optics, the Fallen had made the battle personal. Not normally a mech who sought revenge, Prowl felt the calculated need now. Like a sharp spike embedded in his spark.

"Get away from him!" someone roared.

Before the tactician could swing around to see who issued the order, he was assaulted by a blur of gold and red. Claws dug into his back, throwing him like a rag doll. Flung away, he was caught by Jazz. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were standing where Prowl had been. For a moment it appeared they were snarling to thin air. The curiosity was resolved when a cold, stale breeze blew through the area. Even above the deafening sounds of battle, there was a high-pitched laugh as hollow and black as space.

Jazz bristled, head swinging around as if he could see the monster. _"Fallen."_

Sunstreaker tensed, his optics already bleeding red. "Keep your guard up. He's here to have _fun._" He spat the last word as if it were a vile curse.

Prowl glared coldly, optics raking the scene. "You can see him?"

The look the Twins exchanged in that moment was mercilessly sharp, dangerously dark. Too knowing. Too grim. That was answer enough.

"How-?" the tactician began to question, only to be cut off by a sharp gesture from Sideswipe.

"No time. Explain later."

The red Lambo swooped down, dragging Wheeljack's frame up, struggling to make the engineer stand. With a furious snort, he dug into subspace and withdrew a small vial of topaz liquid. Thumbing the stopper off, he poured the entire thing of energizer into Wheeljack, pushing the mech away to allow him to gag and sputter. The drug worked fast, energizing what had just been drained a short while ago.

"Energizer," Ratchet snarled, glaring at the vial as Sideswipe whipped it away.

"Souvenir I picked up," the red mech smirked darkly, casting a acidic look in Prowl's direction. The moment Prowl had been away from the _Loki_ long enough, Sideswipe had raided his room and stolen every drop.

Wheeljack gagged one last time, forcing down his urge to purge. "Lucky me," he rasped, transforming his arm in order to take out the creeping leech that had been coming up behind them. He failed to take out the head, leaving the poor beast to writhe. Its pain, in turn, summoned its electric counterpart, who came screaming in from the west.

"That one's mine." With an unholy snarl, Sunstreaker did something that no one ever imagined they'd see: he dove into the dirt. Already splashed thoroughly with energon, he coated himself black with grime, then leaped upon the large kremzeek. He was insulated from electrocution by his new coating. His prize was the size of a bull, screeching like a wet cat. In a fury, Sunstreaker wrestled it to the ground and proceeded to bash its writhing body against the ground until it exploded.

Sideswipe eyed the destruction with hunger churning in his optics. "Looks like fun."

Sunstreaker growled, curling his mouthplates. "The explosion gives you a bit of a high."

"I'll have to give it a try, then." Battle-lust had taken hold hard. Sideswipe dove for the ground and rolled until every inch of his energon-spattered frame was coated in a layer of dirt. Sunstreaker outstretched a hand, which his brother gladly took. Hauled to his feet, he barked a laugh that was not the fun-loving mischief maker everyone liked to think him as. It was mirthless, breathless, and hollow. His optics, while not red like his brother's, had turned hollow and glass-like. Twin devious grins stretched their too-handsome faceplates. Sparing no one a glance, they launched back into the thickest fray, ripping into zombie mutants, crushing lightning monsters. They were as feral as the orn they had joined the Autobots- as vicious, merciless, and lusting for death.

Ratchet leaned heavily on Wheeljack's side, feeling like he'd just drank his way through too many cubes of high-grade. He watched the twins with a hard frown. "They're going to end up tearing themselves apart out there," he murmured for no one's benefit but his own.

"They know what they're doin', Ratch. Trust 'em," Jazz said, swiftly turning away in order to seek his own action. His death and recent resurrection had no bearing on his fighting style. Little had changed in his regards of mortality. He was just as eager for a fight as before, irreverent of his own limitations. Prowl, however, was far more deeply affected by Jazz's death and return. He followed after his lover with grim determination, shooting down threats with acid pellets at every turn.

"Come on," Wheeljack growled stonily, urging Ratchet to move. They were sitting targets where they were. They needed cover. Ratchet, most of all, needed cover. Lose the medic, and even if they won the battle, they'd still lose.

Sunstreaker appeared to be operating on the same train of thought, however subverted that thought might have been beneath the mindless urge to rip his enemies apart. He and Sideswipe ploughed their way through the ranks, making a beeline for the only other medic on the field. She was nearly invisible on the ground, hacking away at the tension wires in the backs of energy leeches' legs so they crashed to the ground with their next step. To her credit, Virus had only screwed up who the enemy was a few times- stabbing Ironhide once, slashing at his mate, and attacking the Prime's foot on two separate occasions. When she was grabbed around the legs by Sunstreaker, she screamed her fury and tried to stab him in the faceplate. He immobilized her before she had the chance, crushing her shiv and tossing it away. They snarled at each other, looking like they truly would tear each other apart. Sunstreaker suddenly jerked away, clutching Virus to his chassis as Hound in alt mode stampeded through, running over several leeches along the way, though it cost him quite a bit of energy he didn't have to spare. As the Jeep disappeared, Sunstreaker unfurled his hands, revealing a femme on the verge of going up in flames by the heat of her own fury.

"Drop me, you sack of slag!" Virus spat, writhing uselessly in the berserker's grasp.

Instead of dropping her as commanded, Sunstreaker spun around and whipped her over everyone's heads. She sailed by as a streak of metallic green, slamming into Ratchet at the end of her horrid flight. He fisted her quickly, holding the spitting femme away from him as she tried to launch herself at her ex-lover, intent on ripping his spark out. Sunstreaker's red gaze latched onto Ratchet's for all but an astrosecond. The medic nodded firmly, understanding the request. They were going to need all the medics they could get.

* * *

Punch stumbled to the ground as Sunstreaker streaked ahead of him. He was trying to focus, he truly was, but couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. He felt... divided. More so than usual. He was Punch. He was Counterpunch. Punch again for a moment. Wailing in sorrow as Counterpunch the next moment. He felt sick to his tanks. Every moment spent conscious was a moment of pure agony.

Not even the danger of battle took his mind away from the sight of Doubledealer's head exploding in front of him.

"Sharpen up, Punch!" Smokescreen snarled as he barrelled by. Oily black smoke was pouring from the side of the mech's chest where something had caught fire.

Startled, Punch shot out randomly, striking an energy leech in the head with the side of his arm. His victim groaned, stumbling to the ground. Instant weakness flooded Punch in wake of the contact, numbing his insides. Surprised by the sudden relief afforded to him, he kicked the leech experimentally. Stinging numbness shot up his leg. Oh Primus, it felt so good. Even as his legs gave out and he crashed to the ground, it felt so good.

Mirage came in from his periphery, jabbing with a rapier. "Punch, get up! You'll get yourself killed!"

Punch cringed.

_Killed_. Like Doubledealer.

It would be easier like that, wouldn't it? To be dead. No more fighting. No more pain. Primus, that really did sound nice.

"_Punch-!"_

He didn't know who screamed that time, but it didn't really matter. The voice faded out, just like everything else.

It would be too easy to be snuffed out. In a battle like this, no one would notice.

The energy leech he'd struck down was still on the ground, moaning in agony, clutching its head pitifully. Its frame, as grey as deathly storm clouds, was strangely familiar in shape. Punch inched closer, then leaped away when Flamewar and Barricade came through like a pair of hurricanes. They trampled the leech without paying it a single thought. Its mournful howls cut straight to Punch's core. It might have looked dead, but it certainly felt pain like the living.

Punch tried not to let the howls affect him. All he needed to keep in mind was that one good touch was all he needed. One good touch and the leech would suck him dry. No more pain. No more Doubledealer's head exploding. No more of Dealer's taunts. No more Counterpunch. No more Punch.

Punch reached for the leech. "Don't die before you give me what I want."

A kremzeek swooped in, chittering like a rabid chipmunk as it tried to dissuade Punch from coming near the leech. Punch snarled, throwing handfuls of dirt at the little pest. He howled when someone tramped on his foot, twisting it. The kremzeek, sputtering from its dirt shower, became more frantic. Not fighting, but looking as if it were desperately begging for the life of its partner. Punch could... almost relate. He found himself disturbed by the sudden pang of sympathy he felt.

"_Shoo,"_ he murmured, flicking his hands at the human-sized sparkler. "I won't kill your friend. Just go." He didn't want the burden of the guilt. Didn't want the little creature watching him in his personal moment of shame.

Black optics peered up from an impossibly mournful faceplate. Punch was given an uninhibited glance into the darkest, deadest, most agonized optics to ever see the world. The Autobot jumped back, horrified to recognize the faceplate he stared into.

"_Nightbeat?" _

No recognition came. Only a tormented noise. A desperate hand outstretched- to who? Punch? No. The kremzeek. The energy leech reached for his other half, the poor kremzeek writhing on the ground.

"It's me, Nightbeat. It's Punch. Don't you recognize me?" Punch suddenly said, feeling sick and hopeful and horrified at the same time. He wanted to cry and scream. Purge, sob, and die a little bit more on the inside.

Nightbeat had dedicated himself to so many great- albeit strange- things. He had allowed himself to be taken by the Mastermind. Sacrificed himself to find the kidnapped bots. If Nightbeat's frame was here, commanded by Shockwave, did that mean Shockwave was the Mastermind? And all those kidnapped bots they'd been searching for... Punch's optics grew wide as comprehension dawned. Horror, deeper than any other he had ever felt, flooded him. All of those kidnapped bots would have ended up like Nightbeat- whatever Nightbeat was now.

"No," Punch whined, fire and ice burning through his spark. "No, no, no, I won't lose another friend!"

Spurred on by an insane resolve, Punch scrambled to his knees, grasping handfuls of dirt before he could capture Nightbeat's kremzeek. It squealed, flashing brightly. It looked like a spark like that. A painful wave rolled through Punch's spark.

"What the hell are you doing? Kill that thing!" a human snapped, aiming a magnesium laser at the leech's head.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Punch batted the human away.

With one hand fighting for control of the little lightning freak, Punch clawed at Nightbeat's chest. With each touch, he felt more of himself drain away. The energy leech tried to put up a fight, but it was weak. Almost like the leech didn't want to fight anymore. By the time Punch managed to force the metal open, his hands had turned deathly grey, utterly numb. He beat at Nightbeat's sparkcase until the damn thing snapped open.

"_Kremzeeeeeek!"_ shrieked the electric mutant, snapping and crackling wildly.

"Go back, damn you! Get in there!" Punch sobbed, forcing with all his might to shove the howling kremzeek into Nightbeat's sparkcase. It fought like a wild thing, screaming, crying, and wailing. Finally overpowered, it fell into the darkened case, beating against the cage as the opening snapped shut.

An agonized moan drifted from the leech as it curled in on its chest.

Large feet stampeded through the area, coming too close. Punch recognized the deep roaring of Ironhide. He reached out and shoved the black mech away, letting him stumbled into another fight. The double-agent's full focus was for Nightbeat only.

"Come on! Nightbeat, please come back! It's me! It's Punch! I know you're in there! I can't lose you, too!" He was so weak. So tired. He purged right next to them, forced to his hands and knees. He hung his head as dizziness swept him. Did he still want to die? Maybe. He didn't know anymore...

"P-Punch?" murmured a broken voice, raspy yet familiar.

Wide optics shot up, meeting utterly black ones. Punch would have said something more, but in that moment, the world when black for him.

* * *

Optimus was once again backed up against Soundwave, fighting side-by-side with the ex-Decepticon.

"I need to get to Shockwave!" Optimus bellowed, heaving dry, sandy air through his vents in a desperate bid to cool his overworked systems. Things were crashing faster than he could compensate. Too many bots had already gone down around him.

"Suicide," Soudnwave bit back, the strain in his monotone voice more pronounce than ever before. He crashed to his knees when too many energy leeches latched on. He shot them off at close range, incinerating them with an unforgiving blast of super-heated plasma.

"_Homicide_ when I get my hands on him!" Optimus replied heatedly, striking his current opponent harder than necessary. He was burning and numb everywhere all over his frame. One moment he would be drained by a leech, the next electrocuted by a kremzeek. It was a perpetual cycle of torture.

"He is nearly twice your height, several times your mass," Soundwave continued to iterate, though broken and done with great effort as he fought. "He will kill you."

A wave of hot frustration lanced through the Prime. "Did you see what he did to Elita?"

"I did."

"And you still expect me to turn my back on it?"

Soundwave was unforgiving as he said, "Rise above it."

Optimus tensed, hands clenched. His distraction nearly cost him his energy as a leech came up from behind. His fate was spared by the sudden quake that rocked the earth around him. Rumble and Frenzy's voices cut through the melee, rude epithets thrown every few astroseconds.

"Rise above this just as you told me to retreat on the Fallen? Forget about my sparkmate?" Optimus finally snarled, glaring up at Soundwave.

"If need be," the jet said darkly. "Your emotion is clouding your judgement."

"I find that hypocritical when you are currently mourning the loss of Nightshade," the Prime retorted. He pivoted, swung low with his blades, cutting the legs off a leech. He took the head off next. Overhead, a kremzeek wailed as it faded to nothing.

"My mourning has nothing to do with how I fight. An emotional warrior makes for a sloppy one- you know this." Immediately demonstrating, Soundwave redirected what little of his energy he had left into his legs to rise to his full height, bearing down on the legion around them with all the force his armoury supplied. He did so without any emotion, entirely disassociated from the act.

Tossed in the air, Optimus caught himself on a downward glide, felling an enemy easily. From the corner of his optic, he could see Shockwave at the far edges of the battlefield. The scientist was unmoved by the sight. His singular optic was affixed to every move Prime made, burning a hole through Optimus with its intensity. In turn, Optimus burned with cold fire. His wish to commit bodily harm against the Decepticon overwhelmed every other desire. Unfortunately, the battle at hand dictated where his attention laid if he wished to live.

"Point taken, Soundwave, but you cannot deny me my right to avenge my sparkmate," Optimus pointed out heatedly.

"Now is not the time. We are in weak condition, barely holding it together as it is against these... _things_. Save your vengeance for a time when we can spare it."

Absolute reluctance flooded the Prime, but he was not a stupid mech. He knew when to act and when to hold back; despite everything within him that screamed to confront Shockwave, undoubtedly the perpetrator of whatever sick things had been done to Elita One, _this_ was not the time.

"I wish I could argue," Optimus grunted. He intentionally reached out for a kremzeek, seeking an electrocution that, yes, would hurt like the pit, but would also supply him with a jolt of energy desperately needed.

"A wasted endeavour," replied Soundwave.

An end was coming into sight with the hordes of creatures. There was not an endless supply. The herd had sufficiently been thinned by now, but that did not mean the Prime could rush headlong into his third battle of the day. It would serve better to fight to survive his current battle first.

Optimus fell back, brooding darkly behind his battlemask. "It is an interesting orn when the Prime of Cybertron is being counselled by a Decepticon," he said ruefully. "Twice in one joor, no less."

"I have not always been a Decepticon." By his tone, Soundwave truly sounded as if he had no intention of being one again, either. A curious thing happened then. The jet went rigid, his head swinging around with sudden distraction. Around his head circled one of his symbiotes, but the spark signature was no longer readable. In fact, the symbiotic contract was suppressed entirely. "Buzzsaw?"

The avian bot wheeled around in the air, optics glinting the wrong colour. Like bejewelled amber beacons. "Not quite," crowed the bot. Faster than what could be countered, Buzzsaw divebombed the Prime. Optimus narrowly missed having his optics clawed out by throwing himself to the ground. Laughter abounded through the air, even as Buzzsaw was released from possession.

Laserbeak, darting through with half a dozen squealing kremzeeks on her aft, gave a sudden squawk, jerking, shuddering, then turning sharply in midair in order to dive for Optimus. The mech scrambled backward, struggling to his feet. Laserbeak was released, and yet another form was taken up. This one was Rumble, shaking the ground so severely that great cracks formed in the uneven ground. Optimus was forced to his knees before the seismic shaking stopped. It was not just him forced to the ground, but many others. The steep incline of the crater they fought in ensured that many lost their footing, tumbling down. Human screams lit the air as several became trapped and crushed in the sudden chaos.

"Enough!" Soundwave grabbed his symbiote before more damage could be done.

"Fun's only beginning," replied Rumble, though not with Rumble's voice. Those haunting amber optics disappeared, reappearing on Frenzy's faceplate as the cursing mech suddenly jerked into action. He streaked through the melee between Soudnwave's legs, around felled mechs, laughing all the while as he headed straight for the Prime. His arms turned to piledrivers, aimed for the ground as he neared Optimus. The Prime was forced to back away, unwilling to hurt the microbot while he was in the thrall of another.

"What is the meaning of this?" Optimus demanded as he was forced backwards. It must have been a ridiculous sight for him to be backing down from a mech only a fraction of his size, but the threat was very real. The malicious intent on the symbiote's faceplate spoke of painful torture, enjoying every moment of inflicting the pain.

"Can't you guess?" The Fallen laughed, continuing to herd the Prime backwards. Around them, the tangle of frames parted, leaving them utterly untouched.

"I have no idea what possible machination you could be up to, Fallen," Optimus replied darkly, daring to lunge at the Fallen's current possessed frame. With a laugh, Frenzy was returned to his own mind, spewing a stream of curses as he saw Optimus gunning for him. There was no stopping his forward momentum, resulting in Optimus ploughing into the smaller bot, tossing him into the distance.

A hand clamped down on Optimus's arm. A thick, unyielding grip. Ironhide's beaten faceplate came into view, but it was not Ironhide who looked at him. "Come now, pet, surely you can see I'm helping you?" The words were several shades of wrong coming from Ironhide's mouthplates; the diction was wrong, the tone, the unnatural glee. What also became intensely wrong was the heavy fist flying straight for Optimus's faceplate, striking so hard that his battlemask was ripped away.

The booming reverberation of the strike cast a sudden pall over the battlefield. Time itself slowed, then froze. Never, in all the vorns they had known each other, had Ironhide ever raised a fist to strike the Prime, aside from good-sparked sparring.

Optimus spit aside a gob of energon, glaring balefully. "I fail to see how this helps anything."

"That's because you're so shortsighted; it's a flaw of mortality," the Fallen snorted. "Short of memory, too. I'm answering a desperate prayer of yours, you see? Even the devil answers prayers." The statement was followed by a swift upper cut to Optimus's jaw that had his head jerking back. Chromia's horrified shriek, cursing her mate's name, became particularly loud when all else fell into unnatural silence.

Ironhide, though shorter than Optimus, had considerable bulk on his side. The Fallen had no issue with using such mass to bully the flame-painted Prime backwards, shoving, punching, kicking. In the same fashion Optimus had refused to raise a hand to Frenzy, he would not retaliate on his best friend when he wasn't in his right mind. Damaged as he was, Optimus could hardly bring himself to defend himself. If there was a chance he could hurt the mech who had stood by him for a time longer than a star's life, he would not risk it.

"You make this too easy, Prime," Fallen laughed, continuing his assault with so much insidious delight that it was enough to churn Optimus's tanks.

A steady incline rose beneath Optimus's feet as he was herded farther backwards. Several bodies weaved forward to help, but all came up short when they tried to enter the rift created by the Fallen's whim. If they tried to press their luck, the feeling of falling apart came upon them. A terrifying sensation of imploding and exploding at the same time. Ethereal claws dipped into their sparks in very real warning; interfere, and their fates would be a thousand times worst than their worst nightmares. When the lip of the crater came under Optimus's feet, he stumbled onto even ground. Energon now freely flowed from every crevice. His once handsome faceplate was hardly recognizable, the metal twisted into grotesque angles. Exposed wires sparked. His innards were visible where armour had been ripped away.

Where he knelt, he realized he was at the feet of Shockwave.

The Fallen bent to Optimus's audio, his hissing voice alive with gleeful hate. "My gift to you, Prime of fools."

A brush of cold air. The feeling of Chaos personified rushing through him. A terrible shudder rolled through the entirely of his frame. When at last the feeling faded, Optimus found his frame returned to pristine order. In that single touch, Optimus knew that this gift was far from philanthropic. He had been delivered to the feet of Shockwave for the entertainment value of watching two titans clash. It was no mystery that a fight to the death would thrill the ancient monster like no other. He wanted to see true violence unleashed.

With no further use of Ironhide, the weapons specialist gasped, blue optics blinking wide, before falling back over the lip of the crater. He skidded to the bottom and remained there. The Fallen remained present, though unseen.

"I fail to understand the motivation behind such reckless behaviour," Shockwave suddenly intoned from above Optimus's crouched form. He ignored Psi's influence, not even paying mind to the laughter that now flagrantly wrought the dry air. "Why do you continue to fight when your defeat is inevitable?"

Optimus sucked in a harsh draft of air. "This isn't over until one of us falls." He stood, rigid, determined. Still, he was much smaller than Shockwave's immense height. Even with his physical state returned to him, he was mentally exhausted. By comparison, Shockwave was still fresh.

"The odds are not in your favour."

"You'll find I don't give a damn about the odds." Done with talking, Optimus leaped for the much larger mech. Shockwave was fifty feet to his own thirty. His height disadvantage was not to deter him: he had fought much larger opponents before. And won. His first order of business in confronting an opponent so much larger than himself was to do whatever if took to even the playing field. Exhibiting his warrior's prowess by expertly scaling the Decepticon's frame while avoiding the fists coming for him, he shot several times into the joint where Shockwave's leg met his pelvic structure.

No matter the origins of the unusual frame, it went down as any other would. Though Shockwave gave no outward sign of pain, he did collapse to the ground as the joint gave out. His yellow optic swivelled, its stare incalculably cold. A moment passed where Optimus was caught by that stare. There was something so unnatural about Shockwave's stare. So empty. Not at all like an emotionless pre-program. His optic served as nothing more than a glimpse into a black hole, emptiness so complete that it was hard to believe any living creature could be so hollow.

A moment's distraction cost him his brief upper hand. A forearm was bludgeoned into his torso, flipping him to the ground. The considerable weight of a large foot came down on him, crushing him farther into the disturbed ground.

"Why is it you fight when you know you'll lose?" Shockwave enquired, rising his foot to yet again smash it into Optimus.

"Not everything can be calculated." Quick on his feet, Optimus rolled away and snapped up. He latched onto Shockwave's form again, aiming for any weakness he could exploit. He struck two joints, the hip again and a joint in the lower spinal column, before he was tossed away.

Undeterred by such minimal damage, Shockwave pressed on. He shot at the Prime, taking a chunk out of his left side. A strangled bellow ripped from Optimus as fire burned through him. Hot energon ran over his hands as he clutched the new wound.

"The outcome is inevitable, Prime. I will take back Elita One whether you are willing to surrender her or not. I do not understand why you persist to fight."

"She is my sparkmate," Optimus growled, optics blazing with banked fury. He shot for Shockwave's faceplate. A chunk of the mech's audio receptor fell away.

"What is the significance of being a sparkmate when compared to the preservation of your own life?" Shockwave enquired evenly, sweeping his arm out to knock Optimus away. Jumping at the right moment, Optimus was able to grab on and scramble his way up to slash at Shockwave's neck and shoulder.

Thrusting his blade deep, forcing his weight behind the strike, Optimus was close enough to Shockwave to snarl directly into the mech's audio. "It means to be more than one's self."

Unforgiving hands came up. A punishing vice-like grip was applied, arms banding around Optimus harder than forged iron. "That is an insufficient answer."

"For anyone with a spark, it is answer enough."

Shockwave was silent for a few astroseconds, processing the statement as he increased the pressure of the cage of his hands around Optimus. At length, he finally deigned to speak. "Are you the reason she has survived where all others have failed?"

For some reason, the posed question, so disastrously infuriating by the flat tone it was delivered in, sent a lance of hot and cold rolling through the Prime. He wrenched himself free, fuelled by an endless pit of wild emotions. He tasted the tang of fury for what Shockwave had inflicted, the bitterness of abject fear for Elita One, the potent bite of punishment he wanted to mete out, the staleness of guilt, the urgent bittersweet desire to go to his sparkmate, sooth her, be with her.

"If you do not understand what it is to be a sparkmate, then you have no hope of understanding how or why Elita One has survived as long as she has," Optimus managed to ground out. He was once again on his feet, pressing an attack that became increasingly deadly with each stroke dealt.

"Perhaps if I were to take you as well, my studies of the phenomenon would be more comprehensive?" Shockwave proposed, lending further fuel to the fire raging in the Prime. There was something about the lack of intonation used when Shockwave spoke. It was a desecration to the sacred vows made between two sparkmates. The idea that such beauty, such perfect love, could be coldly calculated, quantified and filed away rocked Optimus's world off its axis. Spots of red appeared in his vision that had nothing to do with the colour of his optics and everything to do with the unfathomable well of rage erupting from within him.

It was like the unfolding of a perfect storm. Optimus Prime, always so infallibly calm and collected, shed the last of his fractured restraints. By nature, he was ultimately a peace makers. By necessity, when roused to occasion, he was not only a formidable warrior, he was a force of nature.

Shockwave, incapable of fear, met the tangible waves of power radiating from the mech with bland curiosity. He was caught off guard when the Prime charged him, his speed inexplicably increased by thirty percent without explanation. One attack was blocked, but the next- a resounding kick that sent Shockwave's head snapping to the side- landed its mark with deadly accuracy. The next set of attacks, each more deadly than the last, each left unchecked as the Decepticon floundered momentarily under the sudden change of behavioural pattern in the Prime, left satisfying damage in their wake.

Between each assault, Optimus's voice- gritty now, almost unrecognizable- could be heard:

"Tell me why?" _Punch!_ "Tell me why you took her!" _Kick!_ "What was the point?" _Dodge. Parry. Spin. Roundhouse_. "What did you hope to accomplish by torturing her?"

"Science," came the cold reply.

With a snarl, Optimus decked his opponent in the faceplate. It was sickeningly satisfying to feel the metal buckle beneath his fist. Shockwave was on his back now, his single yellow optic staring skyward. Optimus's faceplate loomed darkly above, the blackness of his expression matched only by the blackness of the barrel of his gun. "What did you _do_ to her?"

"What I have been trying to do since before you left Cybertron in search of the Allspark. What Lord Megatron bade me to do to ensure Decepticon victory."

"And what was that?" Optimus's gun barrel shoved a fraction closer, a haunting whine rising from within as the plasma charged.

"To create new life without the limitations of the Allspark, by any means necessary."

Bumblebee's image flashed before Optimus's vision, causing his gun to waver. He went cold inside. "Have you ever succeeded?"

A long pause, and then, "No."

"Good."

There was a moment of calculation, and then Shockwave asked, "Are you to kill me now?" Even when enquiring about his own death, he was irritatingly bland about it.

"Yes." Optimus's gun was fully charged now. He did not waver. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Shockwave shifted his gaze from the glowing barrel of the gun to Optimus's smoldering glare. There was no regret in his single yellow optic. No remorse. There was nothing but an empty stare.

"I have made a grave error in judgement."

Optimus's jaw locked. "Yes. You have." His finger twitched on the trigger. That was all it took. The acrid smell of molten slag burned his olfactory sensors in the aftermath.

However long he stood over the dead frame, Optimus couldn't come to comprehend the immensity of the deed he had just performed. When the weight of reality struck, his knees gave out. It was by miracle that he managed to stumble away from the newly made corpse. Satisfaction was sure to come after the shock and emotional exhaustion wore off, but hollow disbelief suffered in the interim was shocking. For all the unparallelled fear Shockwave had mounted as part of his reputation, he was mortal after all. So easy to kill.

Behind him came a rise in noise. Not of the moaning of leeches nor the screech of kremzeeks. His designation drifted on a dull, empty breeze. The voices that reached him were as shocked as his felt. They called for him to rise. To say something. It was beyond them to cheer, too exhausted to stay on their feet, even. Instead of their entreaties quieting with time, the opposite happened. A small dervish of dust whirled by, carrying their voices on a higher pitch.

An outstretched hand came into Optimus's vision. Without thinking, the Prime accepted the offer, allowing himself to be lifted to his feet with surprising ease.

"**Shooting a mech pointblank in the head? And I thought **_**I **_**was a monster." **

Optimus's head shot up, optics wide. His brother's faceplate met him, though Megatron was not the one to stare out those unfathomably dark optics. It was not the amber gaze of the Fallen, but something so much more sinister. With a sharp tug, Optimus attempted to free his hand from the corpse's grasp, but found it futile. The hand that held his was like a trap.

"Megatron-."

"**I am not Megatron."**

Optimus once again tried to jerk away. He was successful only because the other mech deigned it. Gripping his released hand with his free one, Optimus held it tight to his chest. His gaze was a turbulent clash of confusion. "Who-." He cut himself off, then tried again, _"What_ are you?"

The light,_ black light_, that glimmered in those dead optics was... beyond mortal comprehension. It shone from a realm deep within the monster that knew nothing of goodness, other than how to destroy it. **"You can't be that daft. You've always known, deep down, what was inside your brother." **

Seeing vague, horrified recognition beginning to take root in Prime's gaze, deep satisfaction drew across the silver mech's menacing faceplate.

"**If you could barely defeat Shockwave and his laboratory of horrors, you have no hope against me,"** said the beast. Truer words have never been spoken. **"This world is mine now. I will devour it, and I will savour the power it will bring me." **

"You can't do this-!"

"**On the contrary, I can do whatever I want."** The being residing within Megatron's frame cast an impatient look down to Shockwave's battered frame.** "Psi, rise now." **

That single optic, now shattered, suddenly lit up. Bright, bejewelled amber optics danced. A deep drag of air funnelled in through the vents. Arms rose, grasping the head. With a good, hard snap, the head was cracked back into place. There was nothing that could be done for the grotesqueness of the melted faceplate, though.

"Don't you just hate it when you lend things out and they come back in worse condition than ever before? This was one of my favourite toys, too. Such a pity," drawled the bot, as petty as the most spoiled sparkling. He stood swiftly, despite blatant injury, brushing the frame off with exaggerated haughtiness. "This will be the last time I lend anything out." Psi's malicious gaze burned a hole straight through Optimus. "You were supposed to die."

Optimus stumbled away from the impossible creatures, hitting the rim of the crater and tumbling back. Many arms caught him, supporting him. Out of the periphery, he saw familiar faceplates, each reflecting different degrees of disbelief and horror. With a sniff, Psi disappeared with Shockwave's frame. Megatron remained, considering the many optics watching him. He tilted his head for them in a mockery of manners.

"**Enjoy the last moments of your lives." **

Then he, too, disappeared.

* * *

Ice cold prickling raced down every inch of Bumblebee's armour. The feeling was so acute, it forced him to slow his trek through the base's streets. By the same force, Arcee and Bluestreak slowed. A will outside their own drew their gaze back to the battlefield. It was largely obscured by the base's many buildings. Waves of palpable energy radiated from that direction, as forceful as the tides of an ocean at the peak of a storm.

"What do you think that is?" Arcee asked warily, her scowl etched heavily into her faceplate. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms uneasily.

"Don't know, but I don't like the feel of it," Bumblebee replied, backing down one step, then another. "We should go- get underground maybe. Whatever's happening feels big."

Elita One, who had mainly stayed mute and tense since the moment Shockwave's creations had attacked, finally showed signs of life again. Her head came up, casting around cautiously. Her one hand came up to the side of her head, ineffectually trying to cover her audio. It was a terrible cacophony that assaulted her, a maelstrom of wailing that would not be blocked out by any physical means. The planet itself sounded as if it were screaming.

"This isn't good at all," she murmured. "He'll devour the whole planet if nothing is done."

Bumblebee's attention drew to the battered femme in his arms, his gaze questioning. "The Fallen?"

Elita shook her head, shuddering. "No, his master."

Arcee jerked at Bumblebee's arm. "She's babbling- don't be distracted by it. We need to get someplace safe."

"Arcee's right," Bluestreak intoned, optics pale and drawn. "We shouldn't wait around for whatever this thing is to get us. Optimus wanted Elita safe. You swore it."

Bumblebee hesitated, unsure of what direction he should go.

Almost completely overlooked by the towering robots, a small human shape stumbled by them in. Steeped in the shade of the buildings, he was nearly camouflaged from sight.

Arcree, being the closest to the ground, spotted the lone human first. "Sam?" she called, optics flashing. Surprise evident. "What in the pit are you doing out here? Go back, you silly human!"

There came no response. Sam, it seemed, did not hear her, even though the distance between them was not that great. He stumbled weakly, much in the fashion of a sleepwalker. A hand shot out to catch himself on the wall to his left. Bright blue sparks erupted upon contract. Light danced between his fingers. Slow arcs of lightning laced up the wall before fading. His ripped, blood-soaked clothes gave him a haunting appearance. Sam's face was decidedly slack, devoid of any presence of mind, yet in the shade, his eyes seemed to glow.

"Sam!" Bumblebee called, slightly panicked to see his fragile human friend out in such a dangerous situation. "Sam! Get back inside!"

Again, the words did not have their desired effect on the human. He continued on in his trance-like daze, stumbling around a corner and disappearing from sight.

Elita One showed a remarkable return of her senses as she stared after the human. The intensity of her gaze was burning.

"Follow him," she said softly, resting her hand against Bumblebee's front, tugging insistently.

"I..." Bumblebee turned his gaze uneasily to the battlefield once more. He could no longer hear the sounds of fighting. Everything had turned eerily quiet. That uneasy tide of power that radiated from that direction only got stronger with each wave that brushed them. There was a _wrongness_ about the power that sunk deep into his spark.

Elita's hand rose to cup the scout's faceplate. "Follow him," she insisted, softly yet firmly. "You know it's the right thing to do."

Arcee bristled. "We have to get Elita to safety! Leave Sam be if he wants to put himself at risk!"

"I'll get him, if you want," Bluestreak offered, optics imploring that they at least keep moving.

"No, you two go ahead," Bumblebee murmured, unsettled by something. "I'll go after him..." Tucking Elita close, he was off in the direction his best human friend stumbled . Behind him, he could hear the exclamations of his two team mates. Around the corner, Sam had already disappeared from sight. He moved unusually stealthily for a someone in a trance. A coying snake of lightning teased around the corner of a building at the far end of the short road, alerting the scout as to the direction Sam had taken.

"He's heading for the communications tower," Elita murmured.

Deciding not to question the direction, Bumblebee headed straight for the tower. He called Sam's name all the while, still receiving no response. If the scout didn't know better, he would have said the spectre he was chasing was not Sam at all. The body was Sam's, yes, but the feeling was quite right. It didn't _feel_ like Sam.

Coming within sight of the base of the communications tower, Sam was already there. He stood barely two feet feet away from the mesh of metal. Under the low light of the flaming sky, meeting Bumblebee's stare directly, Sam's eyes did not look like his own. They looked older. Ancient. Hauntingly familiar in a déja vu sense; eyes Bumblebee had never peered into before, yet he knew intimately nonetheless.

Bumblebee's spark fluttered, nervous and anxious. The sky above, the flames engulfing it, were eclipsed in a sudden darkness deeper than the night sky. The Unmaker's power unleashed. In the unnatural twilight, Sam's eyes truly did _glow_.

Elita's gaze was mournful as she stared up the sheer power blanketing the sky. So strong was the beast that he could devour light itself. He was still so weak after so long of hibernating, but even a bare nibble on the planet would give him strength. As she watched, the black shade began to fall; everything it touched would be instantly unmade, dissolved and devoured. Increasingly worried, Elita let her gaze fall to the small human standing next to the communications tower.

A slow, serene smile curved Sam's mouth. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

He lifted a hand and pressed it to the tower. A moment later, the world exploded into white.


	54. Vaguely an Epilogue

Is this _The End_? The last chapter? The end of the line for _As We Come Together_? Yep, it would certainly seem that way. Does this ending contain the end all to be all of answers for everyone clamouring at the bit to know the universe's secrets? Sadly, no. Like life, this story will end with some answers, but not all. If there is a sequel, that which is unanswered will hopefully become answered. Can't garuntee anything, since I can't see the future, but fingers crossed and all that. ^_^

So, for all the love and wonder that this story has brought, I must bid you all adieu for now~ It's been a slice of life! ^_^

Many hugs and much love to:

**Flameshield**- Sorry there were no nukes for you to enjoy... ^_^; I'm happy you could make due with the action scene I wrote, woefully lacking in its nuclear usage as it was. =P I can't say all your questions will be answered with this final chapter, but hopefully a few of them will be addressed. ^_^

**Yoong**- Oh, it's always so much fun to hear from a reviewer who has never reviewed before. =) It's awfully humbling that the chapter inspired you to review, especially since you're more of a _Surface of the Sun_ fan. It makes your review mean all that much more. =) Whatever your guesses might be for the present and future of some of the characters of this story, I hope some answers may be found in this final chapter. ^_^

**Phoebe Turner**- Thank you so much~ ^_^

**Juzu**- Goodness, that's so wonderful to hear that you enjoyed all the excitement of the action scenes of the chapter. Writing action is a lot of fun and I was hoping that for the end climax I could have a little something with 'oomph' to bring the story home. =P

**BluePaintedFreak**- It's always a wonderful thing to hear from reviewers~ I'm humbled and flattered that you've enjoyed my story so much. As for your questions- the development of the story was an ongoing process. What I started with was a vague idea, and what I ended up with was a convoluted labyrinth of everything. ^_^; Nothing is ever set in stone, but I do tend to have ideas for the future. =)

**Wolfhuntsmoon**- Awww, I'm honoured that this story is held in such high regard~ It's wonderful that my writing style appeals to you, as well. Inserting humour into the most unlikeliest of places is a speciality (and hobby) of mine. XD And, of course, it's gratifying to know that there is yet another human on the planet who believes we, as a species, deserve to be able to do _something_ right, even if it's only in fiction. XD

**Ladyleyn**- Haha, yeah, nothing says 'Get Off Our Planet!' like a good old fashioned carpet bombing. XD You seem to have touched on everything in the chapter, and sound so enthusiastic about it, too. I can only wager a guess and say you like it? Well, aside from that cliffhanger. XD Fear not, my friend, your cry for MORE has been answered!

**KyuubiSango**- It's great that you've picked up on the hodgepodge nature of the War Eternal series; I've watched all the Transformers series from G1 until recent and have plucked different ideas from each and tried to blend them together. I added I bit of my own spice, too. =P I can't say what Sam is without ruining the surprise, but you're welcome to read and find out. ^_^

**Dramastar-Mel**- I'm glad that you're all excited for this chapter! To be honest, so am I. =P There may not be as much excitement, but the mystery of Sam still carries on.

**Lecidre**- Oh my, you make me feel guilty that I took you away from your schoolwork just to read this story! I'm also flattered, but mostly guilty! It'll be my fault if you fail that assignment now! D8 However, your kudos to the humans have been well received. They appreciate your love. Humans don't get enough credit sometimes. =P And goodness, you, my friend, have got to be the only reader on the face of the planet upset that Shockwave died. XD I'm sorry to say, but he really needed to die. One doesn't commit all those atrocities and get to live. . Vigilante justice served Prime-style!

**MysteryFighter**- Thank you so much~ ^_^

**Wildfire**- It's interesting that you voice your opinion at the _end_ of the story, when there's nothing to be done about anything. I realized the story was becoming too convoluted halfway through, but by that time, it was too late to change a thing. It's been a learning experience. If there is a sequel, I will take what I've learnt from writing _As We Come Together_ and apply it.

**Balrog Roike**- Awww, the poor humans feel neglected over being forgotten. I hope they reminded you thoroughly that we are a mighty force of squishiness to be reckoned with! XD *whew* I'm relieved that you thought Shockwave's end was fitting. It would have been such a shame if the end came and you were like 'Seriously? That's it? Sucks!' O,o So many questions you have, though... so little answers to give. ^_^; Perhaps you will find something to appease your curiosity in this final chapter? =)

**Chloo**- Yes, us humans are capable of kicking some ass when we want to. =P Just ask the planet Earth- we've been kicking her ass for decades. . And my goodness, I have to say, you must be the only reader who finds Sunstreaker bashing a creature against the ground until it explodes to be hilarious. XD You either have a morbid sense of humour or are just epic like that. 8D As for what Shockwave was... Psi certainly had no hand in creating him. He was his own twisted mech. If Psi had made him, he probably would have been built with his head on backwards, his body inside out, and anything else that would make the Fallen laugh. O,o

**FunkyFish1991**- Me? A shameless creature? What lie is this? I'm as pure as the newly fallen snow! D8 (just after it's been driven over and pissed on...) XD Yes, Shockwave is playing 'Finders Keepers'. He's good at the game. He's been winning until now. . Oh, and yes, you know me too well. You're fresh, young, naïve psyche is too tempting to pass up. One way or another, I shall ruin you! *evil laugh* And thanks for the vile/vial thing. I knew it looked funny, but you know me- too damn lazy to bother look it up. XD I fixed it, though. =3 Oh, also, you are very welcome for the DECIDEDLY UNINFORMATIVE ENDING. I thought it was just vague enough to bother you. A lot. ^_^

Special shout outs to some wonderful friends who have helped make this story possible and served as inspiration simply by existing: **FunkyFish1991, Lecidre, Litahatchee, Lady Tecuma**, and **Violetlight**~

Thank you so much for everything, everyone! You've all been the best! ^_^

_**War Eternal**_** Series:****  
As We Come Together  
Vaguely an Epilogue**

_A dream? Or an out of body experience? _

_A hand reached out. Light danced between the fingers. Secrets whispered in the air. _

_Burning skin touched cold metal. _

_A roar of energy. The feeling of expanding... expanding onward, outward. _

_So vast that all the stars in the sky could be cradled in a single palm. Circling the ends of the universe, then spilling over the edges. _

_For a single moment in time, there were no secrets in the universe. _

_Only bright white light..._

When Sam's eyes next opened, the first thought to occur to him was that he was in heaven.

The light that hit his blurred eyes was soft- not too bright, not too dim. It was perfect, really. Light that permeated everywhere, sunk into every surface, hung palpably in the air. It was all very calming. Reassuring. Especially when he couldn't see anything beyond fuzzy outlines.

It took a few moments for his vision to clear. Seeing as he was in heaven and had no particular urge to rush himself, Sam took his time waiting for his eyes to focus. If he had the energy, he would have lifted his hands to rub his eyes, but his current state was so heavily sated that he couldn't summon himself to lift a finger. Every bone and muscle in his body felt drained of energy, which was strange because Sam had always imagined feeling more energetic about heaven. His current state was a warm, relaxed sense of consciousness tied to a deliciously languid body.

_Kind of like the afterglow feeling after a mind-blowing orgasm, _Sam thought, relaxing deeper into the bed he realized he was laying on. It was a nice bed. A little narrow, the sheets starched, but still so warm. The orgasmic feeling, though? _Strange_.

Did that mean heaven was a giant orgasm?

...was God an orgy?

Deciding those kinds of questions were best left unanswered forever, Sam let them dissolve into the warm ether of his mind.

Eventually, his vision cleared and details sharpened. His little slice of heaven turned out to be a room no bigger than a large bedroom. It truly was as white as it first looked, though patterned with tiled floors and painted walls. For some reason, heaven resembled one of the human quarantine rooms on the Autobot base. That was a little unsettling.

As Sam continued to absorb his new surroundings, a lanky, blond version of Captain Jack Sparrow decided to walk past the foot of his bed. In that moment, Sam decided he was not in heaven. Oh no, he was in a version of hell so heinous that only the truly most fucked up people in the world go there. Like Hitler. Or the chick who wrote _Twilight_.

_Or_, nagged a little voice in Sam's head, he wasn't dead at all.

The second option sounded better.

"M-Miles?" Sam croaked, feeling like someone had taken sandpaper to his vocal chords. His tongue felt thick, mouth dry, throat raw.

At the sound of his name being called, Miles jerked straight, spinning around to meet Sam's gaze. A large, black eye patch was strapped across the blond's face, a skull and crossbones drawn on it with white out. It clashed terribly with the angry red scabs crisscrossing his face, ageing bruises blooming everywhere. His outfit looked as if he'd stripped it right off of a character from _Pirates of the Caribbean_.

Seeing that Sam was awake, Miles's face lit up, stretching the scabs and wrinkling his skin. The pain caused was of no consequence. There was no denying the absolute relief that was suddenly evident on the blond's face. His grin was so bright it could have been seen from space. He leaped across the short distance and grabbed Sam up in a hug that was embarrassingly exuberant.

"Oh my god, man. You have no fucking clue how bad you scared me," Miles swore, muffled into the skin of Sam's neck. "You fucking psycho! I swear to god, you ever do something like this again, I'll beat you, man. I will fucking beat you!" When Miles turned his face, his cheek brushed Sam's. It was wet with a sudden flood of tears. "I was shit-scared, you know that? _Shit. Scared_."

"...Scared?" It took a lot of effort to force the disjointed word out of his mouth. It hurt to talk. Nearly stole all his energy to speak another word. "...how?"

Miles swore another explicative, hugging Sam tighter.

Sam grunted, forcing his arms up to return Miles's hug. In the back of his mind, he vaguely thought his wrist should have been broken. It didn't hurt, so he let the thought slide. Breathing in deep, Miles's usual scent of deodorant and stale pizza was overlaid with the lingering smells of incense. Casting a quick glance to the small table next to the bed revealed a clutter of stones, incense, sticks, and shells- things that Sam recognized as items the Lancasters used when doing Wiccan stuff. Miles must have been pretty shaken up if he was trying to cast a spell or pray. For all his quirks, Miles wasn't an overly religious kind of person.

Sam tightened his hug by a fraction, grateful for his best friend's gesture.

"How long have I been out?" Sam murmured as they pulled apart. It took a bit of effort, but he was able to get the oxygen tubes out of his nose, peeling off several probes monitoring his vitals. Smacking his lips, they were dry and cracked. His mouth held the lingering taste of cotton and dog breath. _"Water."_

"A week," Miles replied rawly. He used his sleeve to wipe away any trace of tears, and then fumbled for the glass of water hidden in amongst the items of his makeshift alter.

A small thrill chased through Sam's system. _"A week?"_ It didn't feel like a week. It felt like a minute. A second. A single blink of time.

"Dude, just drink. Don't make me pour this down your throat," Miles urged.

Sam drank the offered water gratefully, downing the glass in one go. Water had never tasted so good. As soon as it was gone, Miles got up to the small water cooler near the door, refilled the glass, and then insisted Sam drink the refill more slowly so he didn't end up projectile vomiting it.

Through sips of cool, deliciously fresh water, Sam worked hard to force out more disjointed words: "A week... seriously?"

Seeing that Sam wasn't going to let the subject go unless someone said something. Miles caved. "Yeah, like a coma or something," he admitted subduedly, picking at the sleeve of his pirate jacket. "Do you, uh... do you remember what happened?"

Sam paused, letting his mouthful of water sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. Now that he thought about it, he _didn't_ remember anything. Absolute mind-wipe. Complete blank from the moment the first meteorite struck until the second he opened his eyes moments ago. Sam lowered the water glass, meeting his best friend's gaze. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

Miles shrunk away, shaking his head. "I was only told what happened. BB saw it for real. Ask him when you see him."

"Right..." Sam sighed, staring at the water glass. "Where's Bumblebee?"

Miles grimaced, shrugged. "He's around, helping Ratchet with... everyone."

Sam flinched at the sound of 'everyone'. He could only imagine what condition everyone was in. It must have been bad. God, he wished he could remember something.

Miles continued nonetheless, never noticing (or ignoring) Sam's grim look. "Bee usually takes his breaks out in the hall here- he likes to stick close to make sure you're alright. He'll be around sooner or later." What went unspoken was that Miles stayed inside the room to make sure Sam was okay. The thought tightened Sam's chest. He and Miles had been best friends forever, but never had he loved his friend more. As for Bumblebee- Sam couldn't imagine life without him anymore.

He looked his friend over, finally absorbing the bizarreness of Miles's appearance and letting it sink in. The pirate getup was... weird. But, so was Miles on a regular day. His eye patch stood out shockingly against the fairness of his pale skin, clashing with the browns and yellows of aged bruising. Guilt over what laid behind the eye patch sickened Sam. "How... how's your eye?"

"Good," Miles shrugged, resting two fingers lightly against the patch. "You know, for a non-existent eyeball and all. They had to remove it."

Sam flinched, his fists tightening in his lap. "I'm sorry... If you had never gotten involved-"

"Don't say it, bro," Miles intoned, deliberately cutting him off. "I don't regret getting to know the transformers. The whole depth perception? Totally overrated." His sudden smile was as goofy as ever. "Besides, chicks dig eye patches. I was thinking of going with a Nick Fury theme, but since we're on a military base, I totally would have blended in. Pirates are awesome anyways." Thus explaining the costume.

Sam was quiet for a few long minutes, blinking furiously to keep his tears at bay. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. It was just his luck that he had the strangest friends ever.

Miles shuffled to his feet, nodding to the nearby door. "I'll go get someone, okay? Everyone... well, everyone's been worried, you know? They'll want to know you're awake." He started to trot for the door, stopping only when Sam made an entreaty for him to stay for a moment. The blond turned to regard his friend with his one remaining eye, a shade of light grey-blue like shadows on snow at midnight, just a tad strange but so essentially _Miles_ that it hurt.

"Where's Mikaela?" Sam croaked, looking around the small quarantine room as if he expected her to appear. He couldn't help but feel a little anxious with her absence. Was she alright? Was she in a hospital bed like his own?

"Um..." Miles stared at his feet, shifting uncomfortably, which did not settle any of Sam's growing fears.

"_Miles."_

"Maybe you should wait. You know, until someone checks you out..."

"Tell me where she is," Sam insisted, investing as much command as he could into his dry voice.

"I don't think it's such a good idea."

"You're freaking me out right now," Sam ground out, back teeth clenching. "If some thing's happened, I want to know. It's either you tell me, or someone else will."

Whatever look had come across Sam's face, it must have been something frightening. Miles locked eyes with him, his own face blanching a little.

"She's... gone," the blond murmured, grimacing. "Chase, too. They disappeared with all the Sector Seven agents, Simmons and the Faireborns included. They're completely AWOL. No one can find them."

"_What?"_ Sam nearly shot off the bed. If it wasn't for the fact that he knew he'd be kissing floor if he tried to stand, he'd be across the room, out the door, and hunting someone down who could damn well tell him where his girlfriend was. "What do you mean they're gone? How can they be gone? Where'd they go?"

Clearly at a loss to deal with Sam's sudden outburst, Miles raised his hands in a placating gesture, taking several uneasy steps back. Sam might not have noticed, but Miles surely did see the small jolt of electricity that flung off his friend and burst off the wall behind him. After the crazy shit he heard went down a week ago, he wasn't about to take his chances getting fried.

"Sam, calm down. I know where the tranqs are and I will shoot you up with one if I have to."

Sam's mouth shot open for an acidic retort, but then thought better of it and settled back on the mattress. He sagged, even more tired now than ever before. His eyes were pleading as he looked back up at his friend. "Mickey's my girlfriend, man. If she's missing, I want to know about it."

Miles bit his bottom lip, considering what he should say. "I- I'm sure Mikaela's fine," he said after a fashion. "She's a tough chick, and if Chase is with her- well, you fucking know Chase isn't going to let anything happen."

Sam was marginally cheered by the fact. He fancied himself an expert in the Banes women, well versed in how ferocious they could be when they wanted to. On the occasions when Chase wanted to play mother bear, there was no place safer than behind her. "But where-?"

"Um... that's the thing about being AWOL- no one knows. They'll turn up eventually, right? The Fairbornes are supposed to be Chase's friends, and Simmons is supposed to be a good guy, so it's not like Mickey's about to be sold into slavery or something," Miles said, trying to sound hopeful, taking several more steps back. He reached the door, swung it open, and shouted down the hall, "Mom! Dr Spring! He's awake!" His summons brought a harried looking Felicity Spring into the quarantine room in a froth of white lab coat and clothes that looked like they'd been worn for several days in a row, followed by Selena Lancaster in star-patterned scrubs.

Spotting Selena, the two lives Sam had been living for the last year- the one where he was a goofy kid trying to get through high school, and the one where he was a goofy kid trying to get through high school but also happened to save the world and be friends with giant alien robots- clashed. For a moment, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to act. His surprise must have been evident, because Selena, whose utter relief at seeing him awake was evident, patted his cheek affectionately.

"They needed help with the injured, so Miles called me," she said, and that was explanation enough. She was, as always, an unflappable rock in the face of everything life threw at her.

"My, my, just look at you, Mr Witwicky," Dr Spring clucked as she bustled about in her usual clinical fashion. "You're so full of surprises, I never know what to expect next." She checked Sam's basic vitals, checked his supposed-to-be-broken wrist. She ordered him to strip the soft cotton hospital gown he was wearing so she could check for anything unusual- bumps, bruises, lacerations, evidence that Sam was a living lightning rod- and found nothing. By her frustrated expression, the good doctor certainly _wanted_ to find something.

A moment passed as she trotted out into the hall, made a call, and a couple minutes later brought Perceptor in. The poor Autobot looked as bad off as the doctor, perhaps even more so because he sported injuries and welding marks from the battle. A very strange thing happened when the copper-coloured Autobot sighted Sam. His movements became much more cautious, though reverent was probably a better term for it. Those domed, luminous blue optics that always looked as if they saw everything peered at Sam curiously, gauging Sam with an ancient stare.

"Remarkable," murmured the transformer as he matched Sam's gaze, running a single finger down the length of Sam's face and neck. Sam shivered, spooked.

Scans were issued, blood was sampled, and swabs of every conceivable orifice were taken.

After an hour of continuous molestation by a myriad of doctors, nurses, and cold medical objects, Sam had finally had enough. Aside from the imperturbable Lancasters, most everyone avoided eye contact. They tried to avoid direct skin contact, too, which was interesting when they all wanted a piece of him. He tried asking various questions- What the hell are you doing? Why the hell are you doing it? How come you need all this? Isn't there something more important you should be doing?- finding that he was either ignored, evaded, or given such short answers that it only frustrated him more.

"Okay, you know what? I'm kinda done here," Sam announced the moment he got to his breaking point. His good humour had left him the moment he'd found out his girlfriend was missing. His patience followed suit soon after. Now all he wanted was... something else. A shower. Food. Fresh air. Bumblebee. A damn explanation for what the hell happened.

Someone tried to pipe in about him being in a coma for a week and needing to be monitored, but Perceptor, of all beings, stepped up to his defence.

"Let the boy do as wishes," he said, successfully cutting off the humans' objections. Long, spindly fingers came around Sam's wrist, attaching a small, metallic device. "This will monitor his vitals. The moment something abnormal appears, I will know." To Sam, Perceptor peered down his pointed olfactory sensor. "Bumblebee is in the hall waiting for you. Your parents are with him. You may go."

A new kind of energy infused into Sam- the kind that _didn't_ fling off him in lightning bolts. All previous lethargy weighing down his muscles eased away, leaving him feeling strangely refreshed, even a little jittery with energy. He didn't realize how much he wanted to see his mom and dad until he realized how close they were. Perceptor procured a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants from subspace, trusting Miles to see to Sam's dressing while the Autobot ushered the adults from the room.

Wrestling the shirt over his head, Sam voiced his curiosity. "Was it just me, or was everyone treating me a little weird?"

Miles paused while tugging down the hem of the shirt. "Should of mentioned that, too... FYI- everyone's gonna treat you weird." When Sam raised an eyebrow in demand for an answer, Miles shook his head. "Seriously, I am _not_ the person to be telling you. Let Bumblebee or one of the other Cybertronians tell you. They know what they're talking about... I think." He stepped away to allow his friend the dignity of getting his own pants on. "Everything in the right place? Okay? Go on- time to face the world."

With a nudge from his one-eyed pirate-themed friend, Sam was urged out the door... and into the waiting arms of his wailing mother and sniffing father.

"Oh my god, Sammy!" Judy wailed, enveloping her only child in an embrace tight enough to grind bones. "You're okay! We were so worried! Baby, you've been out for so long! We didn't think you were ever going to come to!" She peppered his face with kisses, and then leaned away to trap his cheeks between her palms, scanning his face with the steadfast attention only a mother truly knew. Her eyes were red, cheeks stained with tears. Her nose was within two inches of his as she examined his face. "Oh my god, is that stubble growing in?" She rubbed his cheeks, and Sam was reminded of how easily distracted his mother could be.

"Maybe- I guess... I haven't exactly had the chance to shave all week," Sam replied, smiling, trapping his mom and dad in a tight hug. They cocooned him, their arms tight. Judy had no problem soaking his shirt with tears, while Ron remained on the verge of tears but did his best to look strong and proud. Sam knew that over the past year he'd grown taller than them both, but this was the first time he realized how _small_ they seemed now. They'd always seemed so much larger than life before. He hugged them tighter, not wanting to let go.

Ron was the first to step away, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, son. You really are a man now, aren't you?"

Sam's chest clenched, truly feeling his dad's pride. Of course, it was their notorious Witwicky humour that came out first- "I wish I knew what I did to make you proud- I would've done it sooner."

Ron guffawed, shaking his head, His answer was serious, smiling sincerely, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You've been a man for a while now, Sam. I just haven't had the right chance to tell you."

"I- _thanks_, dad."

Behind them, a little bit above them, someone twittered, then sighed wistfully.

"Bee!" Sam exclaimed, breaking away from his parents in order to run for his robotic friend. The scout had done well to blend into the background, unnoticed until he'd made a noise. Unknowing what he had expected of the scout, Sam was a little surprised to find that Bumblebee was entirely unhurt. Much unlike Perceptor, Bumblebee hosted not even a scratch to his paint.

"Hello, Sam," greeted the scout, grabbing up the boy and crushing him his chest. The embrace chased the breath right out of Sam's lungs. For Sam, being crushed to death had never felt so good. A moment later, Bumblebee was dangling Sam in front of him, looking him over thoroughly. His expression was eerily similar to Perceptor's, though not as shrewd.

"Miles said you'll tell me what happened," Sam said, deciding that he didn't want to hear what Bumblebee probably wanted to say at that moment- not while the scout was looking at him so strangely.

Bumblebee's optic ridges arched. "Of course." His gaze fell to Ron and Judy Witwicky. "Would you mind...?"

Judy sniffed, nodding. "Go on. You two have so much to talk about. Just- be careful, okay? He's my only baby."

"Don't worry, I'll protect him," Bumblebee assured.

For some reason, the words made Sam shiver.

With the utmost gentleness, Sam was brought to Bumblebee's shoulder, allowing the scout to set off in the direction he wished. They were quiet while Bee navigated his way out of the familiar confines of the medical building. Humans were everywhere around his feet, many of whom shouted salutations to Sam as they passed. It broke his heart to see that many humans, mostly the military personnel, were injured. Arms in slings, legs broken, bodies battered, skin bruised. They limped around, lounged in plastic chairs, or rolled about in wheelchairs.

"The fight must have been pretty bad, huh?" Sam said quietly, rubbing Bumblebee's audio receptor.

Bumblebee flicked him a measuring look. "It could have been much worse."

They came outdoors into the light of midday. Sam shielded his eyes, struck blind for a bit until his eyes adjusted to the unforgiving assault of light. In an unvoiced agreement between the pair, they took their time moving through the streets, saying as little to each other as they possibly could. As soon as they were away from prying eyes and ears, they would be at leave to speak.

Conscious of Sam's needs, Bumblebee stopped by the cafeteria, allowing his friend to pick up something quick to swallow down. With that gathered, they set their way for the outer perimeter of the base. The closer they got to the periphery, the more sand-blasted the buildings looked. A few windows were shattered. It looked like one hell of a fight had happened nearby.

Coming out from the shadow of the last building, Sam gasped as he realized where all of the Cybertronians had gone to. The once-empty land stretching out from the base was now thoroughly occupied by all manner of scrap metal, wandering humans, and the grand majority of Cybertronians locked in stasis. Beyond them in the distance was a massive sinkhole ringed by scattered body parts and downed aircrafts.

Heavy tarp tents had been set up in the area, each housing an unconscious Cybertronian. The bots too big to fit were sheltered in billowing fumigation tents whose bright colours added an extra surreality to the already haunting scene. Along the sides of the tents, names had been spray painted, along with faction insignias and symbols representing the tenant's condition. Many of the transformers found within were in poor form. Even though a week had passed on Earth, allowing humans to heal adequately, it was still only an orn to the transformers; they were still hurting badly, in desperate need of repairs. Not a placid faceplate was to be seen. Most were pulled down in grimaces of pain, even in stasis. Mangled frames laid heavy and limp against the carpet of tarps keeping them out of the dirt, collecting dust as the days passed.

The haunting silence and grave solemnity that hung in the oppressive air resulted in a scene that sent shivers down Sam's spine.

"Oh my god..." His hands clenched against Bumblebee's shoulder, every muscle tensed.

Bumblebee's hand closed around Sam, offering strength. "It could have been worse," the scout murmured, reminding himself and his human friend. "It could have been so much worse."

Sam took a shuddering breath, nodding.

A few paces behind them, a sudden voice shattered the silence-

"I see that tent moving! You knock it down again and I am NOT putting it back up!" Ratchet appeared at Bumblebee's side, waves of pure agitation rolling off him as he gestured to the tent currently offending him. "You're supposed to be resting! Not wrestling around like two bots half your maturity!"

A tent flap flipped up, a silver head appearing. "We weren't doin' nothin' this time!" Jazz yelled back.

"Not you!" Ratchet snapped, slashing the air in the direction of the tent with Ironhide and Chromia's names spray painted across the side. _"Them."_ A shriek, one that most certainly was _not_ of pain, promptly emanated from the dark recesses within, followed by a sharp flash of light. Everything was still and quiet afterwards, aside from a deep rumbling-purring noise. Ratchet harrumphed grumpily, glaring at the tent. "I hope it was worth it!"

"It was!" Chromia replied, sounded very satisfied.

Bumblebee quickly looked away, trying and failing to make his laughter sound like he was clearing his vents. Sam scratched the back of his neck, not quite sure what to do.

With a disgusted snort, Ratchet turned his attention to Bumblebee and his human charge. First the medic did a double take, as if surprised to see the pair standing there, and then his gaze turned thoughtful as he looked Sam up and down. "Samuel."

"That's my name," Sam replied, meeting the medic's gaze unwaveringly. It was getting pretty old quick, the way everyone was treating him so... strangely. He couldn't help the bite of annoyance that laced his tone.

Ratchet's mouthplates twitched. "Don't get smart with me, boy. I've had a very hard orn trying to get everyone put back together. I don't need you being difficult, too."

Sam flinched. "Sorry..."

"No, that's alright. I'm just happy to see you up and about again." A few scans absently passed over Sam, taking in the details. Gentle as a cool caress, Sam relaxed as the cool blue lights glided over him. Satisfied with the information he was receiving, Ratchet nodded to himself. He noted the metal brace on Sam's arm. "Perceptor's seen you, then?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He arched an optic ridge. "I expect Bumblebee has a lot to catch you up on."

"Yes... sir," Sam replied, feeling less and less like he knew what to say for the occasion.

The medic looked off into the distance, slightly pensive. "You may want to get going then. Without Simmons here for crowd control, outside humans have been getting too close. Privacy will be null if they manage to cross the rifts..."

_Rifts?_ Sam let that slide, deciding it was another thing Bumblebee would explain later. "Won't you need Bumblebee here to help? I don't want to take him away- we can stay here, if you want."

Ratchet looked sorely tempted to agree, but nonetheless shook his head. "No, this is something that I would imagine needs to be said in private," said the medic. "I will be fine here; I just managed to stabilize everyone, so now the major repairs begin." He grimaced as he looked out at the hodgepodge of tents and dull metal bodies laying about. "If you'll excuse me, I might as well get started. And be careful where you step-," he raised a hand, revealing several compact devices dangling from black wires, "-that little _psycho_ of a medic those Decepticons have buried land mines around the tents."

Said psycho came marching by, her arms full of scrap metal destined to be welded to someone. Trojan's head dragged behind her on a frayed string tied around her waist. She sent Ratchet a supercilious look. "The humans were getting too close to _my_ tents."

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe do not count as part of _your_ tents. They are _my_ patients," Ratchet growled severely. "If I find land mines buried around here one more time, you'll be in stasis like everyone else."

Virus glared hotly. "Fine, I'll make sure you don't find them." She marched on, heading for Flamewar and Barricade's shared tent. She disappeared within, a roar rose up, and she was whipped out a second later. Collecting herself from the ground, she ran back to the flap to snarl some choice words, throwing the armful of supplies she had dutifully collected at them. After that, she stalked away.

Sam looked back and forth between the two medics, suddenly realizing something very similar between the two. He leaned close to Bumblebee's audio receptor. "Are all Cybertronian medics bad tempered, or are we just lucky?"

Bumblebee chortled, replying in kind, "From what I can tell, it's part of their programming."

Ratchet sent them an incendiary glare. "I can hear you perfectly well," he growled. "I'll have you know, am _nothing_ like that foul-tempered, ill-mannered, inconsiderate little heap of scrap metal."

Sam and Bumblebee could barely share a glance without breaking down into laughter.

Ratchet harrumphed once more, dismissing them with a wave. "Go on, get out of here before I change my mind and make you stay to help. I can can manage fine with Virus. Go do what you must." He continued to gesture for them to leave, shooing them away.

Accepting the dismissal gratefully, Bumblebee promptly held Sam out to Ratchet, transformed, and allowed the human to take up his accustomed spot in the driver's seat. Lest they accidentally drive over a hidden land mine, Bumblebee rolled slowly through the desolate sight of his comrades' ravaged frames ensconced in all manner of tents. From within his interior, the scout could feel Sam press against the window.

"Are Ratchet and Virus enough to fix everyone?" Sam asked quietly, albeit unsteadily.

"They have to be," Bumblebee replied solemnly. "They are all we have for medics. I'm no medic, so the best I can do is assist where I can. Wheeljack is around, too, but he's locked in his labs trying to rebuild everyone's lost limbs. He's our only engineer, so he might be at it for _months._" And though not necessarily an impediment to the engineering process, Wheeljack had unfortunately reverted to his pre-Earth mild psychosis. Ratchet and Tungsten were primarily the only beings he talked to now, with Tungsten being the sad majority.

"Could humans help?"

Bumblebee hesitated, then answered, "Yes, though without the Sector Seven agents on base, personnel is stretched very thin, the majority of which are injured anyways."

"Oh," Sam sighed. They rolled passed a conglomeration of four tents strapped together, flaps on either side open. Laying within were two mangled forms, one vaguely yellowish-gold, the other red. Their hands had been arranged so that their fingers were entwined in the space between them. For a split second, the gloom shifted, and then Sam realized Virus had sneaked into the tent and was currently... dusting sand off Sunstreaker's unconscious frame. Her expression was pensive. Their gazes met for a second, then Sam wisely looked away.

Away from the shanty town of tents, Bumblebee angled them in the direction of the bleakest looking stretch of desert. Sam said nothing, his forehead pressed to the window, feeling like his mind was on Mars. In the far off distance, two lone figures sat watching the sky. One of them, Sam recognized even at a distance; Optimus Prime. There was no mistaking that regal stance, or the flames. The little one sitting next to him, on the other hand... She was a vaguely rose-tinted smudge leaning against the Prime. A nonentity who nevertheless caused a shiver to run down Sam's spine.

The Camaro didn't play any music during their drive. They didn't talk. Bumblebee drove. Sam sat. Eventually, when it felt like half the desert had passed them by, they slowed. Then stopped. Ahead of them stretched a canyon that had not been there a week prior.

Sam squinted at new landmark. "Is this where you were taking me?"

"Yes."

At least that explained what Ratchet meant by 'rift'. Sam unbuckled, slithering from the comfort of Bumblebee's interior into the baking heat of the afternoon sun. His skin prickled. Helicopters circled like vultures on the other side, though never coming near enough to cross the divide. They weren't military. News copters with their cameras rolling. Ignoring them completely, Bumblebee transformed.

"Go look at it," he said lowly, gesturing to the canyon.

Sam did as he was asked, stepping up to the unnaturally clean-cut lip of the canyon. He was no great judge of distance, but from one side to the other, it was... a big jump. Looking down... Heat radiated up from the depths. With it came the feeling of power. Raw power. The same feeling that came when lightning struck nearby or a volcano blew its top; power that rocked through every molecule of a body. Sam took several steps back, vertigo hitting him hard. He couldn't see the bottom. The walls of the canyon went down as smooth as glass, soaring down at a perfect ninety degree angle. Without warning, Sam puked.

"The same thing happens to every human who gets too close," Bumblebee suddenly intoned. "It's the only thing that's kept the media out for so long. Only the AWOL agents have crossed it, and without them here, we don't know how they did it."

"What is it?" Sam rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Bumblebee arched both optic ridges. "A canyon- or, more accurately, a 1.5 kilometre wide _moat,_ minus the water, given that it circles the area with with a 188 kilometre circumference, 60 kilometre diameter. Satellite imaging shows that is it a perfect circle. It is 15 kilometres deep, halfway to breaking through the crust into the mantle."

Sam backed away farther, feeling waves of hot and cold pass through him that had nothing to do with the canyon's unnatural heat. He didn't like the canyon. Didn't like the fact that he was near it. That it was on his planet. That it was anywhere near his solar system. It was an instinctual dislike, an intense revulsion he couldn't deny; the same kind that hit him every time he saw a human hologram that was so perfect that it looked wrong. Every primal instinct in his little organic body railed against it. A flood of adrenaline hit him, trying to force him to run.

"Where did it come from?" he managed to ask, his throat once again feeling dry and tight. His hands shook.

After a moment of hesitation, Bumblebee answered, "You helped make it."

Stunned, Sam stared. Blinked. "No, I didn't."

Bumblebee frowned. "Yes, you did."

"No-."

"-I _saw_ it, Sam. I was right there."

"I..." Sam wracked his brain for any detail that would tell him what the hell happened a week ago. Nothing came. It was all blank. He would have traded the world for a single memory. Anything that could have told him he had nothing to do with the damned canyon. Resigned, he carried himself as far from the lip of the canyon as possible, sat down, and said, "Maybe you should start at the beginning, Bee. Just tell me what the hell is going on."

The scout sighed, reaching over to stroke Sam's back to comfort him. "Try to keep an open mind about this, okay?"

Sam nodded.

"We've all been wondering about the sudden changes that have come over you, yes? Most especially your eyes."

Sam suddenly felt very conscious of his eyes, his gaze falling away from Bumblebee so the mech didn't have to look at them.

Bumblebee saw, stroking his friend's back. "Humans do not go through drastic changes like that without evidence of _something_ happening in their bodies- a catalyst of some sort. However, no matter how hard we looked, the answer eluded us with you. Your health never deteriorated, you never showed any adverse side-effects. In fact, you have only gotten _healthier_ since the change."

"It feels like my mental health has been deteriorating," Sam murmured wryly. "With my luck, I probably inherited the Witwicky crazy gene."

Bumblebee's mouthplates twitched. "You're not crazy. And you're not sick. Since nothing seemed wrong, aside from your eyes and your usually spectacular health, we had to turn our attentions elsewhere. Do you remember hearing about the cloaked ship?"

Sam paused, raking his memories. Something vague did come up. "Yeah. I take it that flaming portal to hell we saw in the sky was it?"

Bumblebee cast a pensive stare to the sky, a blue, clear sky with no signs of flame at all. "Yes, that would be it."

Sam paused, thinking something over, then decided to ask, "How can it be on fire in space? There's no oxygen up there."

A soft, sad laugh drifted from the yellow minibot as he shook his head. "I am quite sure the regular rules of the universe do not apply to a creature like that. He does what he wants."

Sam frowned. "That's a little ominous, don't you think?"

"Ominous, but true," Bumblebee sighed.

"You called it a creature... does that mean the ship is alive?"

"In a way..." He shuddered. "We call him the Fallen. We thought he was just a story, a monster to scare little younglings with. Very much like old, forgotten fairytales here on Earth. As it turns out, he's more real than myth."

There was a long pause as Sam processed what his big yellow buddy was saying. "...so, what you're trying to tell me here, is that we're supposed to be fighting the robotic equivalent of the _bogeyman_?"

"Yes, I do believe that is what I'm saying," the scout replied, a tad defensive.

"You're right," Sam suddenly said.

Bumblebee blinked. "About what?"

"About me not going crazy- you're right, I'm not. You are."

"It's hard enough for my kind to accept this as it is, Sam. Please don't make it worse," Bumblebee sighed, scrubbing his faceplate in a frustrated gesture. "If the stories about him are true, he's a terrible creature who sold his spark for power. He had power unlike anything we've ever known. And to make matters worse, the Fallen serves a being who devours worlds, someone a thousand times more powerful than him; a creature who currently inhabits Megatron's old frame."

Now it felt like the bottom dropped out of Sam's stomach. He swallowed a tight knot in his throat before asking, "What does that have to do with me?"

"Nothing and everything."

"Gee, that's helpful."

"Just listen to what I have to say." Bumblebee's stare was so intense now that it burned through Sam. "There came a moment at the end of the battle when the Fallen's master showed his true hand. The sky turned so black..." He shuddered, finding no other words to describe the void. "I was on base trying to get Optimus's sparkmate to safety when you came wandering out. It was like you were in a trance. I followed you to the communications tower. When you touched it, there was so much light. I was blinded by it for I don't know how long. When I came to, I was like this-," he gestured to himself, completely healed, "-and you were on the ground unconscious."

"Was I struck by lightning?" Sam croaked hopefully.

Bumblebee shook his head, dashing that dream. "You must have made a shield of some kind, enough to protect the base and surrounding area. This mote is where the Unmaker's power touched down. The Fallen and his master have not been seen since. We don't know if they've been destroyed or not."

Sam wrapped his arms around his drawn up knees, rocking gently. "I don't remember. I don't remember any of that." He stared up imploringly, his blue eyes shining too brightly in Bumblebee's shadow. "Are you sure it was me?"

"Yes."

Sam shook his head, shutting his eyes tight. "No."

"Sam-."

"_No." _He choked back something that sounded like a sob. He had a terrible sinking feeling of what this was adding up to, and he hated the thought. Hated the possibility. It was too much. Too overwhelming. Things like that _didn't _happen. Not in the real world. "Please don't say it, Bee. That's just... I can't be it. I _can't_."

His own spark sinking, Bumblebee hunched, drawing his own knees up, wrapping his long arms around them. "I've only felt the Allspark's energy twice in my life, Sam. The first time was that day in Hoover Damn when I got to hold the Cube in my hands. The second was the moment you touched that tower."

Sam flinched as if he had been physically struck. Hot tears streaked down his cheeks. "Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure. There's no other feeling in the universe like it, Sam." The scout shuddered, recalling the wild rush that swept him. Exhilaration. Power. Awareness.

More tears tracked down Sam's cheeks. He hugged his legs tighter to his chest. The next question he asked nearly tore him apart: "I'm not human anymore, am I?"

Surprise flashed in yellow bot's optics. A moment of hesitation followed, and finally Bumblebee said, "You're still very human, Sam. As human as you've ever been, only... only with a few bonus features now." He scooted closer so that they sat side by side, enabling Bee to easily reach down and stroke a single finger up and down his friend's back. "I have your biorhythms on my sensors right now and they're no different than they were before. Everything about you is the same. Same organic materials. Same DNA. You're still Sam. Still _you_."

"But I'm supposed to be the Allspark, too?" Sam croaked weakly.

"We don't know for sure, but that's our best guess," Bumblebee sighed. "Maybe it's just a developing side-effect from the extreme radiation exposure you had. The energy discharges could be activated by emotional stress. There's any number of explanations..."

"You're all treating me differently anyways," Sam murmured, not able to look his friend in the optic.

"True, but give us some credit. It will take some time to become accustomed to something so... unusual. The Allspark was everything to my kind, Sam. _Everything_. And now there's a possibility that we could have it back? It's mind-boggling."

"Yeah..." He was sure feeling the mind-boggling right that second.

"_Plus,_" continued the scout, "it's not every day that we meet a creature who has the ability to single-handedly repel a world-devouring monster and his demon ship servant. Allspark or not, it was the second most amazing thing I have ever seen."

Curious, Sam peered up with one eyebrow raised. _"Second?" _

Bumblebee's smile was warm and affectionate as he gathered Sam in his hands, bringing him close to his chest. "Yes, second."

A barely there smirk appeared on Sam's strained, ashen face. "I may be on the verge of a panic attack right now, but you gotta tell me the first most amazing thing you've seen. How do you top saving the world with super powers?"

"By saving the world without them." A low, calming hum vibrated through the scout as he thought of the day. "There came a moment during Mission City that I thought we would lose, that Megatron would take the Allspark and it would be the end of everything. But then there you were, a tiny human a fraction of Megatron's size, no powers whatsoever, and you risked everything to save your world and a race of aliens you had just found out existed a few days before. I've lived a long time, Sam, but I've never seen anything like _that_. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen." Bumblebee's hug tightened a fraction. "I've called you my brother since that day."

Flattered, humbled, Sam hugged his best friend... _brother_ in return. He pressed his cheek to the warm metal, so wonderfully comforted. "Guess that makes you my _big_ brother, huh?"

"Well, calling me _little_ would just be strange," replied the scout, laughing.

Sam felt the corners of his mouth curl up. He leaned away, catching Bumblebee's optics. "I don't want anyone to treat me differently, okay? Even if I might be... you know, the _Allspark_-," he whispered the word, unable to truly embrace the immensity of the idea. "I still want to be Sam. I want to live my life. Be human. Don't let me become some smudge on the bottom of a petri dish that everyone gets to look at through a microscope."

"You'll never become a smudge on the bottom of a petri dish," Bumblebee vowed. "I can't make promises that things will go back to being the way they were, but I can promise you that we'll figure this out. I won't let them turn you into a science experiment. Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen."

"I didn't want any of this to happen," Sam sighed.

Bumblebee's optics dimmed, his shoulders sagging. "We'll figure this out, Sam."

Neither one quite willing to return to base just yet, they remained for a while more at the rift. It might have been a long shot, but Sam kind of hoped that if he sat around long enough, his brain might actually be able to wrap around the idea of him being the Allspark. Sadly, it didn't work. He got as far as visualizing the ancient, strange cube, and then his brain turned off. He tried working himself up, trying to see if he could get a lightning bolt or something, but he couldn't even summon a static shock. He felt utterly the same as he had before.

To fill the silence, Bumblebee spoke of all that had happened during Sam's coma:

Optimus had made a formal statement to the people of Earth two days after the battle. There had been no sense in putting off something as important as that. The Cybertronians' stance on Earth had been laid out bare; they were refugees looking for a home, victims of a terrible war that had ravaged their planet. They weren't looking to freeload, nor looking for charity. They were willing to seek an agreement with the people of Earth, hopefully find an exchange that would allow them to stay. As for the Fallen... Optimus had been forced to become selective with his truths. Instead of informing their hosts that their planet was now under siege by extraterrestrial-mythological monsters, it seemed more prudent to introduce Earth to the fact that, thanks so the Cybertronians landing, other beings in the universe now knew Earth was here and they would be curious of the planet. Not all of them would be benign. If the people of Earth were willing, the Cybertronian people were more than willing to help with the transition between being a self-contained planet into an open one. From what Bumblebee could gather, thoughts on the matter were still being wildly debated.

One of the energy leeches that had been under Shockwave's command was now in their care. It was locked away in the highest security cell they had in the deep subterranean brig. Not that it really needed to be, since it hadn't bothered to move since it'd been thrown in there. For all intents and purposes, it was as much a corpse as it looked to be, aside from the fact that it sucked in all available light in its vicinity. Punch, after he had been brought back online and heavily sedated after several dangerous post-traumatic breakdowns, had vehemently insisted the being was Nightbeat. While the frame was, indeed, Nightbeat's old frame, all likenesses after that were null. The leech held only basic intelligence; manging simple words, recognizing faceplates. Most of the time, it only made it's awful moaning sound, though recently it had started to refer to itself as "Gloom." Perceptor insisted on studying the creature to find out exactly what it was. Find out what made it tick. Perhaps they could design some better defence against them for future reference. Some wanted to believe that there was a possibility that Nightbeat, the real Nightbeat, could be brought back, but it was a failing hope. One look into those dark, dark optics was enough to know that Nightbeat was gone and he wasn't coming back.

As for the living, Dr Spring had been as attentive to the Cybertronians as she was to her human patients. She was currently in the process of putting together a curriculum for group therapy sessions as soon as the transformers were able to sit up and attend. If Wheeljack and Punch were any indication of the ragged mental-emotional state of their species, then there was no denying that they needed help in a bad way. They had to be helped as soon as possible, made as stable as possible, if they were to have any hope of making a good impression on the people of Earth... Well, a better impression than what had already been given. Any free time that Dr Spring had, she could be found shadowing Ratchet's every move, coordinating with him to decide the best structure for the therapy sessions. Bumblebee even admitted to speaking with the doctor one-on-one for a short session, looking forward to when the actual program got underway.

Last but not least, Bumblebee described in reverent tones the mate of Optimus Prime. She was doing well, all things considered. Thanks to the same power that had granted Bumblebee instantaneous repairs, Elita One's frame had been restored to its former glory. She was once again a beauty so stunning that sparks would skip a beat when they saw her. Her armour was unique, the last remnants of the territory she hailed from, Crystal City. There was no other frame in the universe like it anymore. For many Cybertronians, just to look at her now was to be reminded of the orns when Cybertron was a place of beauty. Bumblebee, sadly, had not been alive before Crystal City's destruction. He had never known Cybertron as a beautiful place. He simply knew that he adored Elita One above all else. Optimus Prime was attentive to her, rarely leaving her side. They stayed apart from the main, immersed in each other as only two sparkmates could be.

Bumblebee was cautious, sad, and quiet as he related the damages that Elita still carried. Her frame was repaired, but so many traumas remained unseen, and perhaps untreatable. Her processor was severely scrambled, fraught with every manner of corruption. Memories were twisted, large sections deleted. She didn't like physical contact. If anything approached her too quickly, or surprised her in any way, she would shrink away or shut down. Hours could passed before she would move again. Her repaired frame didn't appear to register fully with her mind, as she could often be found limping, letting the arm she had lost in the Fallen hang limp at her side. An acute development of claustrophobia made treating her for anything difficult; she couldn't enter anything that vaguely looked like an enclosure. No buildings whatsoever. Underground was out of the question. If she could not see the sky, she would begin to panic. Four walls made her uneasy. Even sitting in a tent with all the windows and flaps open had her shuddering.

Elita One's spark was the greatest mystery of all. Though her frame was repaired, her spark stayed as it was. Wrong. That churning yellow mass of puss that pulsed like an infected wound in her chest. Ratchet saw to her daily, trying to figure out what to do. All he tried failed to relieve the poor femme of any discomfort. The medic could only surmise that the yellowish mass was some kind of scar tissue for a spark. Until further tests were done, there was little else he could do.

Sam listened silently, letting the words wash over him, sink into his skin. He never realized how much he liked Bumblebee's voice until now. It was a soft, smooth voice, mildly accented. The metallic twang that accompanied the words was hardly noticeable anymore. When Bumblebee tapered off into silence, Sam finally snapped out of his light doze, looking about for the cause of Bumblebee's silence.

"Oh my," breathed the scout, standing up to get a better look at what was approaching from the distance. It was a large armada of C-17 cargo aircrafts heading straight for the rifts. Bumblebee's hand flew to his audio receptor, probably making several called at once- one to contact the planes, one to contact the Prime, and one to contact the humans on base to see if anyone knew who the hell the planes belonged to. Moments later, a strange look passed over the scout's faceplate. He transformed, door swinging open for Sam. Needing no more incentive, the human dove in and hung on as the engine roared to life, wheels spun, and they shot off across the desert like yellow lightning. Shooting a glance out the back window, Sam watched as the C-17s crossed the rift. They waggled in the air, their pilots obviously affected by the negative energy. Beyond that, the planes kept coming.

The pair made it to base just ahead of the C-17s. Behind them, the planes were already making their descent to the empty tarmac. Ratchet was suddenly at Bumblebee's side, Perceptor standing on the other. Prime completed the group, stepping up silently. They watched the human aircrafts roll to a halt, watched the large hatches crack open and slowly descend.

An excited cry rose up from the nearest of the C-17's-

"_Sam!" _

Sam's head shot up, eyes wide, heart instantly in his throat, as he watched Mikaela bolt down the steep ramp and make a beeline for him. She looked a mess, poor thing. Her skin pale, deep bruises ringing her exhausted eyes. Ageing bruises blotched her skin. The jumpsuit she was wearing was several times too big, dark blue with the Sector Seven crest emblazoned on the front pocket. All Sam could do was open his arms as his girlfriend launched herself at him, arms coming around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist. She held on for dear life, clearly with no intention of letting go. Her whole body was shaking.

Sam hugged her back fiercely, struck by the sudden surge of protective possessiveness that swept him. Here Mikaela was, in his arms, shaking like a leaf, and he wanted to do everything in his power to make her feel better. The strength of it nearly knocked him on his ass. He'd never been particularly protective or possessive of anyone in his life before, mainly because there hadn't been anyone, but he was definitely feeling the urge now. He wanted to cart her off to someplace quiet and secluded and kiss the breath right out of her. Throw her clothes off and kiss her everywhere. He couldn't hug her tight enough, have her close enough. In the back of his mind, he was reminded of the fact that Mikaela didn't have the advantage of über-freaky-awesome superpower/healing factor. Hugging her so tight was probably hurting her. He tried to ease his embrace, only to have Mikaela double her efforts to crush him like a boa constrictor.

Two shaking hands rose up, framed his face. Their eyes met.

"I. Love. You." Mikaela said, unequivocal determination in her voice. Then they kissed. Mikaela wasn't giving him an option otherwise. Not that Sam was about to resist or anything.

"I love you, too," Sam replied dazedly the moment they parted.

"Good." She snuggled into his body, her face pressed into his neck.

Deciding that he wasn't quite ready to let his girlfriend out of his arms yet, and she definitely wasn't letting go, he shifted her weight and got comfortable. He rubbed his cheek to her soft, tangled hair.

Above them, the Cybertronians smiled knowingly, though were wise enough to allow the two humans their moment.

"Where have you been?" Sam sighed, rocking back and forth. He had a thousand questions to ask and not enough time to ask them all. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? How did you cross the rift?"

Mikaela's soft body shuddered against him, her warmth breath tickling the skin of his throat. "I'm fine, they didn't hurt me. Getting across the rift is pretty bad the first time, but not so bad the second... I guess you have to get used to it." Her tone of voice spoke of how much she was loath to the idea of getting used to crossing the rift. "Jaye and Flint kidnapped Chase to help her- they wanted to keep an eye on her. They took me to help out. We've been _everywhere_, Sam. It's been crazy." Bone-deep exhaustion layered her words. She leaned into him, absorbing everything about him, ignoring everything else. "You'll never believe it, though. Simmons and all them were getting help."

Sam looked up, realizing for the first time the number of humans now pouring from the cargo planes. There were so many of them! "Are they all Sector Seven?"

Mikaela wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. "I can't remember- we were to so many bases. I think a lot of the are Sector Seven, but others are... I don't know. Different agencies, I guess. You'll never believe how many 'secret government headquarters' are laying around this country. I stayed with Chase through most of it, though."

"How is she?" Sam asked carefully, feeling the slight shudder that ran through Mikaela's body.

"She's..." Mikaela flinched, looking away.

A hard hand clapped down on Sam's shoulder, hard enough to almost buckle his knees.

"I'm just fine, boy," Chase growled. One look at her was enough to decide that was an outright lie. She looked anything but fine. However, there was such a contained violence about her dull black eyes that Sam had a feeling anyone who tried to say otherwise was going to end up being carted away in a matchbox. Wisely, Sam avoided eye-contact and clung to Mikaela for safety.

To their left, Optimus was kneeling as he addressed the Fairbornes and Agent Simmons over their disappearance and subsequent reappearance with reinforcements. Whatever was being said between the four seemed to be of some reassurance to the Prime. His faceplate relaxed a fraction, his shoulders releasing some of their pent-up tension. Simmons held his walkie talkie close, barking into it every once in a while to dispense the agents now swarming the tarmac.

Ratchet said a few words to the agent, surprising the human for a moment. As soon as Simmons understood what was being asked of him, from Ratchet the Hatchet of all mechs, he dutifully ordered a large contingent to assemble for the medic to use as assistants. Humans were better than nothing. Surveying his gathering forces, Ratchet nodded once, and then knelt so that he could see to the two human women near his feet. He placed a finger beneath each of their chins, lifting so he could peer into their faces.

"You two look horrible, but you'll do," he sighed.

"Don't go easy on us or anything, Ratch'," Mikaela smirked wryly.

"What the fuck do you mean 'we'll do'?" Chase growled, jerking her chin away from Ratchet's touch.

Ratchet rocked back on his heels, one optic ridge arching. "I have one mech who's been refusing to go into recharge all week because he's been worried sick about you two. He's been running himself ragged scanning the internet looking for you. The only thing that's going to get him to rest is knowing you two are alright, so I suggest you go see him. Now." He helpfully pointed in the right direction, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

Chase rubbed the heel of her hand against her tired eyes. "That idiot."

Mikaela smiled softly, nudging her aunt. "Go ahead, I'll give you a head start."

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Chase slouched off.

Sam watched the woman wander off, his arms tightening around Mikaela. "You think it's smart to just let her go off like that? She'll probably eat Hound alive or go psycho-postal on someone if she hears a loud noise."

Mikaela swatted him hard enough to sting, heartily insulted for her aunt. "Don't be an idiot. Chase isn't going to do anything stupid; she's wanted to see Hound all week, too."

* * *

Hound swayed where he sat in the confines of his personal pit. Correction: tent. It only _felt_ like the pit.

The flaps were open. A dead breeze was drifting in as evening settled. He wished he could go outside to watched the sky turn black, but knew he'd get only get distracted and upset when he realized the black of night was nearly the same shade of one particular human's eyes. A human he'd been trying to find all week.

Of all the scans he'd run throughout the entire virtual world, he could not find evidence of either Chase or Mikaela Banes being anywhere on the planet. Despite all the moral and legal repercussions, he'd even zipped through private databases and hacked into high-security surveillance systems in attempts to locate them. He turned whole virtual domains upside down in his search. There were probably several hundred pissed off humans in the world wondering what the pit was wrong with their internet. For the first time in a long time, Hound couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't care how long it took him, he would find his humans.

Not that the internet was being very accommodating to his needs. It hadn't been the first time, and it still wasn't his twenty-seventh time scanning it. The repeated failures were pit on his ego, not to mention doing nothing to sooth his increasingly tense nerves.

It had been months since he accepted the fact that he had humans. Not like an infestation. Not even like owning them. He simply had them in the same way that made Mirage and Smokescreen his brothers. It was the same connection that made the Autobots his family. An affinity that could be felt but not easily described. It was a phenomenon that his kind were starting to notice the longer they stayed on the planet. Not just that they were beginning to see past the organic-inorganic barrier, but truly being adopted into families like they belonged there.

Bumblebee had the Witwickys. Ironhide had the Lennox family.

Hound knew the Banes women belonged to him.

He knew it the same way he knew his paint was green. He accepted it as a fact of life. Embraced it. He actually _liked_ the idea of having a family, even a human family, to belong to. And because the Banes belonged to him, it was his responsibility to find them and make sure they were alright.

He just hoped the effort didn't kill him first.

For the thousandth time that orn, he sighed. Sagged. His vision fuzzed for a moment, then cleared, but didn't come back as bright as before. Warning signs blared in his vision for a thousand things at once: he needed repairs; he needed recharge; he needed energon; he needed oil; he needed coolant; he needed a Primus-damned sign that Mikaela and Chase were all right or he was going to go crazy!

"Ah'm already crazy," he sighed to himself, scrubbing his faceplate with his palm.

Pure, unadulterated exhaustion weighed his every move. Coupled with his still-fresh wounds from the orn prior, he was an absolute _wreck_. Ratchet had already threatened to force him into stasis several times. The medic had even attempted to actually enforce the threat once. Though not many bots knew it, Hound could be stubborn when he wanted to be. And he wanted to be damn stubborn about staying awake until he found his humans! So, with some quick thinking, he'd erected several firewalls strong enough to keep Ratchet away from his recharge subroutines for the time being.

He heard shuffling in the dirt approaching, though he lacked the strength to scan the spark resonance to see who it was. Since the bot sounded small, it must have been Virus. He didn't bother to turn around for her. A long, tired, put-upon sigh drifted through the hot air.

"Just look at you, Hound. What am I going to do with you?"

Hound jerked straight, optics flashing wide. He knew that voice- that low, raspy, growl of a human voice. Faster than what was smart, he spun around to face the small figure now standing in the tent's entrance. She sported her own injuries, ageing bruises and healing cuts. Her skin was pale and ashen beneath its copper hue, her eyes turned haunted and strained, circled by dark rings of exhaustion. Although she wore a loose jumpsuit, Hound could tell she'd lost weight since he'd last seen her. Despite all that, in that very moment, nothing in the universe had ever looked better to Hound than Chase Banes standing in front of him.

Chase smirked up at him, her eyes taking on a light that had been missing all week.

"Well? I'm here now and you're a wreck. Isn't there anything you have to say for yourself?" she goaded.

He needed no more incentive. In a flurry of kicked up dirt, Hound dove for her. Before he could even think about bruised ribs or other hidden injuries, he crushed her to his chest. He needed to hold her. Needed to feel her warmth. Her soft fleshiness. She groaned as bones ground together. The strength of his embrace made her stomach churn, threatening sickness if the vice-grip did not let up. She never told him to loosen up, though. Never told him to let go. If her arms hadn't been pinned to her sides, she would have hugged him in return.

"Missed you, too," she grunted, pressing her sweaty cheek to his chassis.

"Missed you?" Hound suddenly wrenched her away and shook her as hard as he dared. "_Missed you?__ !_ Have you any idea how _worried_ out of my damn mind I've been? !"

Chase gripped her ears as his voice boomed around the inside of her skull. Those tar-black eyes turned diamond sharp. "Oh, my god, I am right in front of you! _Don't yell at me!_"

Hound reared back, a little too high-strung for the moment. "Don't _you_ yell at _me_!"

"You started it!"

"You worried me!"

"_I know!" _

"_Then don't do it again!" _

"_**I WON'T!"**_

They glared at each other for nearly a full minute. Hound cracked first, his temper disappearing with the rest of his energy. He never could hold on to his anger very well. Chase, on the other hand, could stay angry until the universe imploded. She glowered rottenly from Hound's hands, watching him with a predator's gaze. He sighed and set her down.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, sitting back. "I didn't mean to yell... I got caught up in the moment."

"Ya think?" Chase sniffed, rubbing her left side gingerly. "Fuck, Hound, I think you cracked a rib."

Hound, predictably, cringed, looking guiltier than any living being had the right to. "Did I? Aw, Chase- I'm really, really sorry. I'll go get Dr Spring. She'll fix you up." Even though he looked like he'd rather cut out his own spark than leave, he turned to crawl out of the tent.

"No, wait, don't go, you idiot. Stay, please," Chase sighed, dropping her hand from her ribs. "I was just fucking with you. I'm fine, really." Actually, no, she wasn't. Her ribs really did hurt. Hound could see the truth clear as day; it made him sick thinking he'd hurt her, even accidentally. He could also see in her eyes that she wanted him to stay as much as he wanted to.

"All right." He settled back on his aft, cycling air through is vents to get rid of the lightheaded feeling suddenly striking him. He couldn't take his optics off her, drinking in the sight of her. Everything in him screamed to pick her up again, hold her again, make sure she was alright, but this time he didn't dare touch her. He was afraid to.

Reading him too easily, Chase held out her arms. "Pick me up," she ordered stubbornly.

Hound jerked forward, but then fell back, shaking his head. He even twiddled his thumbs nervously.

Chase's eyes narrowed. "Pick. Me. Up. _Now_."

Jolted into action by that particular tone of voice- to be quite honest, he was rather scared of what would happen if he didn't obey- Hound scooped his human up and brought her close to his spark. All the tension in Chase's body melted away. She turned toward him, pressing as much of herself as she could against the contours of his armour. Her whole body turned lax, comforted to be somewhere where she knew she was safe.

"See?" she murmured tiredly, yawning. "You're not gonna hurt me. You'd never hurt me." Her forehead came to rest against him, rubbing against the warm, gritty metal. "God, it feels so good to be home."

Hound's spark fluttered, knowing she wasn't referring to the desert. He cradled her a little closer. "I'm glad you're back," he said quietly.

Her nose wrinkled, peering up at him. "Where'd your accent go?" she asked accusingly. "You don't sound right without it."

"Was too worked up to think about it," Hound replied, laughing softly. He made a noise like he was clearing his throat, and then said- with proper accent intact, "Ah thought ya hated this accent?"

"I do. I hate it with a passion." She shrugged. "You're not you without it, though."

Hound nodded, content. He was careful as he moved, settling onto his side while keeping Chase cradled against him. She didn't have the strength to move away, so she let herself be moved. Trusting him to hold her safe. The tarp beneath them crinkled and crackled obnoxiously. Once settled, he remembered how tired he was and nearly slipped off into recharge. Resisting the urge, he focused on his friend, noticing that she walked the fine line between consciousness and oblivion as well. She was resisting for his sake.

"When Ah came online an' realized you an' Mikaela weren't here, you have no idea how scared Ah was," he murmured. "If Ah had lost you two, Ah don't know what Ah would've done."

Something flickered in Chase's gaze, then she smiled softly, brushing her knuckles across his armour. "Sorry we worried you. Next time I'm kidnapped, I'll make sure to tell you exactly where I'm going."

Hound snorted lightly. "Ah'm sensing sarcasm."

"Only a little."

They were quiet for a little while before Hound was brave enough to ask, "Why did they take you?"

Chase slanted him a stubborn look. "What makes you think they wanted me? Maybe they wanted Mickey."

"Ah know you too well, Chase. If they had wanted Mikaela, ya would've dragged her here, too, just to make sure she stayed safe. You're too much of a mother bear to do anything else."

Chase blinked up at him. "I can't tell if I should be complimented or insulted."

"Complimented, definitely." The thumb of his free hand brushed down her face, down the side of her body. "Why'd they take you?"

"Intervention," Chase sneered, looking away. "Jaye and Flint have been my friends for years. The lying, sneaking, rat bastards that they are, they're still my friends. They wanted to make sure I finally got the help I needed, whether I wanted it or not. Before something worse happened."

"Worse?" Hound wondered worriedly.

"You know, kind of like that stupor you found me in once, except that I don't wake up from it. Ever." She shook her head again, her tangled hair becoming a matted mess against the slate of armour she used as a pillow. She missed the horror that crossed Hound's faceplate. The unadulterated terror that came with the thought of one day walking into her house as a hologram and seeing her dead on the floor. Chase continued, completely oblivious- "I've seen more doctors and drugs this week than I ever want to see for the rest of my life."

"Were they able ta help ya?" he croaked weakly.

Chase cast him a curious look, one eyebrow arching. "It's an ongoing process." She wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her upper arms with her palms.

Hound, too sharp to miss any detail, noticed her hands shook. Her entire body was too weak. Too thin. "Have you eaten anything all week?"

"Nothing that didn't come back up an hour later."

"Sleep?"

She grimaced. "You're kidding, right?" Nightmares were just as bad as flashbacks; yet another chance to relieve the worst moments of her life. Chase, for the most part, was not about to subscribe to self-torture. She'd go without sleep for as long as she had to.

"Ya have ta rest sometime," Hound sighed, his spark aching.

"Look who's talking," she huffed. "I'm not the one who wasted an entire week looking for two humans when he should have been recharging."

Hound pursed his mouthplates. "Ah don't know if you've noticed, Chase, but you and Mikaela are damn important ta meh. Ah'd never call lookin' for the two of ya wastin' mah time. Ah would have done it until Ah found ya. And now that Ah've got ya, Ah'm thinking of stickin' microchips in the both of ya so this don't happen again."

He watched as a ruddy colour bloomed across Chase's cheeks. If there had been a nasty retort on her tongue, it melted away at Hound's sincere tone. She scratched the back of her neck uncomfortably. "Aw, see, when you say things like that, you almost make me think you care."

"Ah do care. A lot." He was completely earnest. Entirely honest. He cared more than he could say in English.

Chase sucked in a surprised breath, held it, then let it out as a hiss between her teeth. She couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"Ah'll make ya a deal," Hound said, shaking his head. "If Ah agree ta recharge, then you gotta sleep. You'll stay right here, with meh, where Ah can keep an optic on ya. No one is gonna kidnap ya on mah watch. If ya have a nightmare, wake meh up. Ah'll be here for ya."

He watched surprise dawn on Chase's face. Watched emotions run the gamut through her eyes. The more he watched her, the more his spark broke. She was such a strong creature, used to taking care of everyone around her in her own way. She didn't accept help unless she had no choice. Constantly trying to act like an island who needed no one. And he could see behind all that, could see that all she wanted was to go to sleep and not worry.

"I can't," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Why not? Don't ya trust meh?"

Chase tensed, scowling. "Of course I trust you!" she snapped, insulted that he'd think otherwise. "If I had it my way, I'd sleep like the dead right here, right now. Unfortunately, trauma-induced insomnia doesn't care about what I want."

Hound frowned lightly. "Did they give you something to help?"

With a sour look, Chase dug into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle of pills. "To help me sleep," she said, shaking the bottle. "I hate them."

"Take 'em, for meh."

She bristled, glared, lips pressed into a hard line. Their staring contest lasted until Hound won. Chase reluctantly popped the cap and swallowed one of the prescribed sleeping pills. She made a face at the taste.

"It takes a little while for them to kick in," she said, shifting around to get comfortable in the cradle of Hound's arm. Not an easy thing to do. The scout shifted as well, turning onto his back. His whole frame gave one great big sigh, hot air rushing out from every vent. Chase gave a yelp, rolling off his arm into the hollow of his side, cushioned by tarps and turned up dirt. "Jerk."

"Sorry."

A yawn suddenly took her. Black eyes blinked slowly, each time taking longer to open. "This has been bugging me all week, since I don't know if I hallucinated or not.. Did you, by any chance, rip the roof off my car?"

Hound stilled, recalling that wild moment when all he could think of was getting Chase to safety. "Um... maybe."

"That's the second vehicle of mine you've ruined." The human's voice was as flat as her stare.

"Ah know." He made a face, hoping she didn't expect him to pay her back for this one as well. "Would 'sorry' help?"

"Only if you mean it." She yawned again. Then chuckled a little. "Wrecking two cars in less than a year... If I didn't know any better, I'd say that was some kind of cry for help." A mock gasp. "Are you _jealous_ of the dinky little Earth-cars I drive, Hound? Is that it?" She was teasing him. A fact that delighted him. It meant that she wasn't as pissed off as he feared.

Hound blew a jet of air across the human, enjoying her sleepy laugh. "And if Ah said I _was_ jealous?"

"Oh dear, whatever will I do?" Chase sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "I guess you'll just have to suffer, seeing as it's my job to tweak everyone's engines." She slanted him a playful look. "Does that make me a whore?"

"Ah prefer the term 'courtesan'," Hound laughed, loving that Chase laughed along. He nudged her lightly. "Ah'm a reasonable mech; you can tweak engines so long as you're paid. In your free time, though- if you're gonna be handling anyone's engine, it's gonna be mine." He flinched. That came out a little more possessive than he meant to let on.

Predictably, Chase stilled. Her breathing stopped. She knew that tone. Understood it. "Is that so?" she asked lowly. Her voice was a little slurred now, the sleeping pills kicking in.

Hound levered himself up to look down at her. She met his blue gaze with clouded eyes. "Ya know what Ah meant," he replied quietly.

"Sure."

For a moment, Hound didn't know what to do. Should he ask to take back what he said? Deny it? Or maybe say everything on his spark in one giant deluge of confessions? He chose the least smart of his three options. The one which he had the most to risk, but maybe the most to gain. He gave into the urge to reach over and stroke the strength of the human's body. She closed her eyes, her expression a mix of relief and pain.

"There is something Ah wanted ta tell ya, though," Hound intoned quietly.

Chase's eyes snapped opened. She didn't like the premonition she was having of the moment.

Hound leaned a little closer. "It's just, well... Ah wanted ta say... Ah lo-."

"Don't." She held a hand up, palm out, keeping him at bay, silencing him. Her eyes were pleading, her voice soft. "_Please. _Don't say it."

He tried not to feel hurt. "Why?"

"Because." Now she sounded bitter. "I'm human."

Hound arched an optic ridge. "So?"

She glared, mouth thinning mulishly. "I'm sick_. _You're hurt. This definitely is not the time for crap like that. I have to get things sorted out for myself, for my family, first. Mikaela's all I have and I've really been fucking things up for the last couple of years. I wanna make things right, and that's all I can handle right now. You understand that, don't you?"

Hound nodded. "Yeah, Ah understand." He really did. It still hurt, but he understood where Chase was coming from. She wasn't pushing him away, only drawing a boundary they shouldn't cross. He could live with that. "If ya ever need anything, though..."

She closed her eyes, smiling tiredly. "I know exactly who to go to." She didn't have the strength to open her eyes anymore. Her body felt as heavy as lead. She turned her head and brushed her lips to his side, and Hound would have given anything to be able to feel it. "I don't know what I would've done without a friend like you." Her words trailed off, sleep finally taking her under.

Hound remained watching her for a little while longer, feeling so many things at once he felt like he was sinking and floating at the same time. A small noise outside the tent broke his concentration, drawing his gaze up. Mikaela stood silhouetted in the entrance, a younger mirror image of her aunt.

"Can I come in?"

Hound nodded, watching her closely. He had no idea how long she'd been standing there, or how much she had heard. By the look on her face, she clearly had heard enough. Her steps were careful and quiet as she wandered over to her sleeping aunt, crouching down to sweep hair away from her face, laying a kiss to Chase's cheek.

"She's like a mom to me," said the younger woman. "I'd never say it to her face, but you know...She's the only family I have, and I love her." It was a statement of fact meant just for Hound to hear. Standing, she walked around until she stood near Hound's looming faceplate. When she motioned for him to come close, he did. Her hand was gentle as it brushed his faceplate. "I just want to say thanks for everything you've done for her. You're one of the best things to happen to her in a long time."

Hound's spark fluttered, touched by the youngling's words. "She's one of the best things ta happen ta meh, too."

Mikaela's smile practically lit up the tent. "I know." Her lips pressed to the side of his faceplate, as much a blessing as any verbal statement. She then quickly ducked away, her cheeks stained pink. With one last warm smile, she wandered away to Sam, who stayed at a respectful distance outside the tent.

With Mikaela's blessing warming his spark and Chase's sleeping body tucked safely next to his own, Hound happily fell into recharge.

* * *

Optimus groaned expansively as he eased to the ground, mindful of his injuries. He was careful not to move too quickly or to be too loud. Even though the femme he intended to sit next to knew it was him, knew he meant no harm, she still startled easily.

Luckily, Elita One did little more than shift to the side to give him more room to sit. Better than two nights ago when she froze up stiffer than a block of ice and refused to budge for nearly two joors. Tonight, she even flashed him a smile, her optics lighting up briefly with a warmth he craved. Optimus felt his spark shiver, much in the same way it used to when they were both young and unmated. So long ago when he used to trip over his own feet every time he saw her, his spark would dance whenever she was near. The moment of nostalgia caught up with him; he fell the rest of the way to the ground, landing on his aft with a loud _'thud!'_

Elita covered her mouthplates with a delicate hand, giggling quietly at him.

A little embarrassed, and ridiculously happy to hear his sparkmate's laugh, Optimus scrambled to sit up. Being with Elita gave him the joy of not being a Prime; he could be himself, just Optimus, with her. A relief he had not felt for a long time. The moment he was comfortable in the dirt, he was further gratified when Elita scooted closer. When close enough, she hesitated, looking him over once, and then leaned in to let her weight rest against his side. A dim thread of blue light passed between them. Subdued, but definitely there. Evidence of their bond. By the way his spark was soaring from such a simple gesture, one might have thought Elita had reached into his chest and fondled his spark. She chuckled quietly again, clearly picking up Optimus's current ecstasy.

Instead of saying something that would surely embarrass her mate more, Elita tilted her head back to regard the endless sea of stars above her. "The sky is so lovely tonight," she said. "The stars seem especially bright."

Optimus regarded his sparkmate with all the love he had to offer as he said, "You are the brightest star I see tonight." His arm came around Elita's slight form, drawing her near and tucking her close. She did not object to the contact. Tonight, she seemed content to be near Optimus and to be touched. She almost seemed like her old self. Almost.

"Still such a romantic," Elita admonished fondly, never once taking her optics off the sky. After so long of being within the Fallen, open spaces fascinated her. At one point, after being locked up for so long, she'd convinced herself they didn't exist. Now she couldn't get enough of them. Day and night, the sky called to her, not just because of what lay hidden in the unseen, but because of the wonder of what could be seen. There were no boundaries in the sky. No walls. No cages. Only freedom.

"I am romantic only for you," Optimus replied softly. "Anything for you." With his free hand, he brushed the side of her faceplate, revelling in the feel of his mate. So real. So solid. She shuttered her optics and leaned into his touch. A soft purr drifted from the depths of her chassis, so quiet that it was almost mute. Optimus felt her purr more than heard it. The gentle vibrations that passed into his armour delighted him, soothed him, and made him love her more. If she could still make such an innocently seductive noise after everything she'd gone through, then there was still hope in the universe.

"Anything?" Elita repeated, one optic ridge arching. She looked as if she would try to tease him, perhaps ask that he bring her a star in a glass bottle or something as equally silly.

"Within reason," Optimus moderated, chuckling.

"Ah, then stay with me tonight," Elita asked softly. Her small hand closed around a slate in his armour, begging him with a touch to not leave.

"I wouldn't never dream of leaving you." Ever. Never again would he leave her. Elita asked the same thing every night; stay with her until dawn. Rest with her for a few joors. Enjoy each other for as long as they could. Almost as if she expected it all to be taken away at any moment.

She sighed, utterly relieved that she had yet another night with her Prime. "Good."

They shifted a little closer to each other, absorbing the warmth radiating from each others' frames. Little sparks of blue energy danced between them, tickling their plating with every touch. Elita kept her optics on the stars. She rarely ever looked away from the heavens. Optimus, on the other hand, kept his optics on his mate. Likewise, he rarely ever looked away from her. It still astounded him that one creature could embody so much beauty. Not just her frame, as miraculously restored as it was, but in every detail of Elita One. The way she sat, the way the air stirred around her. She was beautiful simply in the way she existed. If his spark wasn't already hers, then he would have given it to her a thousand times over just to bask in her presence.

"Those planes that came earlier..." Elita murmured, trailing off.

"Sector Seven agents, among other humans," Optimus replied. "Agent Simmons, it seems, is making a habit of coming to our rescue when we most need it."

Elita's smile was soft as she thought of that particular little alien. The one that bowed for her. "He is a very kind human."

"In his own way, I suppose," Optimus said, musing over the idea.

"And how is the other human- Samuel? Has he come online yet?"

"Yes, he's online," Prime nodded, his tone far more affectionate now. "We saw him earlier when he drove out with Bumblebee."

"I had a feeling that was him," the femme murmured, her expression suddenly pensive. "Is he alright?"

"He's as healthy as any human," Optimus moderated.

For the first time, Elita's pale gaze travelled from the stars to meet her sparkmate's optics. "Do you really think he could be...?"

"There's a strong possibility," the mech said. "Of course, you would never be able to tell just by looking at him."

"Oh?"

Optimus inclined his head. "I spoke with him earlier and he's utterly normal in every sense of the word. There's not a shred of the Allspark's energy around him. It's very well camouflaged."

Elita nodded, now back to contemplating the sky. "Perhaps it is for the best," she sighed. "He's safer being as unspectacular as possible. They-," a vague gesture upwards filled in who she was referring to, "will never be able to use him if they can't find him."

This was the first time all week that Elita had acknowledged her former captors. Optimus's arm tightened around her of its own accord, although it made the femme a little uneasy. He loosened his grip, though refused to move away from her.

"They are still alive?" Prime wondered grimly.

"It will take more than that to kill them," Elita sighed. She was grateful that Optimus never questioned how she seemed to know little details without being told. It made accepting the gift easier. "They're weak now, though. That attack drained them."

Now Optimus turned his gaze to the sky, a small frown pulling his mouthplates down. "Do you think they will leave?"

"I doubt it," Elita sighed. "Samuel may have saved us from being devoured, but he let them know the Allspark is here. They will stop at nothing to possess it- to possess him."

"Sam will be protected."

"What good would that do when the bots guarding him can be possessed at any moment?" Elita asked, sounding so much like her old self that it hurt. "Let him keep his humanity and we will watch from afar. If we treat him like a human, no one will ever know otherwise."

"True," Optimus conceded. "Bumblebee is more than willing to retain his guardianship duties. That should be enough."

"Yes, hopefully." Elita nodded, thinking of the minibot. She'd asked about him a few days earlier, curious to see if she could rouse any memories of him. It became obvious soon enough that no memories existed to be roused. There was only that strange black hole in her head whenever Bumblebee was mentioned. Her memories had been deleted. Her entire life from the moment Bumblebee entered to the last moment she knew him had been wiped clean."I wish... I wish I knew more about the mech, to be sure that he will be enough..."

Optimus saw the flicker of wistfulness cross Elita's optics, the same sad thoughtfulness that came every time she thought of Bumblebee. He cupped her faceplate, drawing her gaze. "He is enough and more, Elita. You'll be able to make new memories with him, and you will see how extraordinary he is," he assured soothingly, knowing exactly what sad regrets lingered in Elita's mind. Even before Elita One had known of Bumblebee's unique origin, he had been the sparkling she never had. Deleting him must have broken her spark. She had sacrificed such a huge part of herself in order to protect Bumblebee's origin, and that in turn awed and humbled Optimus.

"Will you tell him?" the femme wondered carefully. "About where he comes from, I mean."

"Soon, but not now," Optimus replied on a sigh. He had been thinking of it constantly, ever since Shockwave had stated what his mission had been with all his captives. "It's best to let the dust settle from one battle first before jumping into another."

"Fair enough," Elita conceded. To her, it seemed oddly fitting that the one spark in the universe to not come from the Allspark was protector and friend to the Allspark's current living incarnation. Details like that tended to make her think there was some kind of order in the universe. Perhaps someone with a sense of humour or a love for irony was pulling all the strings?

"We know that Bumblebee will stay with Sam no matter what, but what of Earth? Is it still in danger?"

Elita fell out of her reverie, blinking. "This planet? It's very much in danger, yes. There's no doubt about that." She gestured to the vast scenery around her. "Even without Allspark, Earth's natural energy resources are too rich to pass up. They-," again she motioned skyward, "will drain every drop from the planet before they move on, with or without Sam. The humans will not be able to defend themselves. We must stay to help."

Having expected as much, the news still struck a painful chord with the Prime. "We have a hard battle ahead of us, then."

"Harder than you can ever imagine," Elita murmured. Her hand grasped his, squeezing. "You know the stories. The Fallen is a very powerful creature- absolutely ruthless and utterly sparkless. He will do whatever it takes to drive each and every single one of us insane. Worse yet, he's nothing compared to his master."

"Primus," Optimus hissed, taking the name in vain when he could think of no other word to say.

Elita shook her head sadly. "Not Primus, Optimus. His brother, Unicron."


End file.
